Battle of the Bands
by FairytaleFatale
Summary: When up and coming new band Oathkeeper get the opportunity to open for Kingslayer, the biggest rock star in Westeros, on his world tour they think their luck's come in. That is except for lead guitarist Brienne; with his playboy reputation and connections to the ruthless Lannister Corp Jaime Lannister is the last person she wants to share a dressing room with (AU, rated for swears)
1. Chapter 1: Band Practice

((Well hello again good people of fanfiction dot net, It's been a while! As promised here's my little contribution to the magical world of J/B AU fics (even though this chapter is severely lacking in J...) It's a modern AU based on TV canon. I hope you'll give it a shot and bear with me through this, I'm not sure how long it's going to wind up yet so, who knows! Big thank you shout out to my very first (and incredibly wonderful) beta IdesofApril ~Thank you so so much! More notes at the bottom so for now I'll let you get on with it ;-) )

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"We're not doing it." Her words were uncompromisingly firm and final, and also useless.

Brienne slouched against the wall of the dingy little practice room, it was cramped and less than professional but it had sound proofing and better still the rent was cheap. Drumming her fingers unconsciously on her thigh Brienne kept her gaze firmly fixed on the corner of the room, avoiding the puppy dog eyes her best friend was sending her.

"We have to, Bri! This is our big break, what else are we going to do for the next four months? Play the same dive gigs for drunken teenagers who're gonna forget us next week? This is our chance."

There were few people in the world capable of dissuading Sansa Stark when she really had her heart set on something. Brienne Tarth was trying desperately to be one of them.

"There will be other, less objectionable opportunities." _One's that don't involve us selling our souls to the Lannister Corporation,_ she added silently to herself.

"Not like this." Sansa twisted her hair nervously through her fingers, excitement and anxiety warring for control. "Not as the opening act on the Westerosi leg of Kingslayer's World Tour."

"We do not want to be associated with him Sansa, we're better than that."

Throwing her arms up in exasperation Sansa rounded on the two silent members of Oathkeeper, who'd been watching the exchange from across the room with silent bemusement. "Margaery, talk some sense into her."

The bassist smirked from her perch on top of her amp, "She has a point, Brienne. This is the biggest opportunity we've ever been given and there's no guarantee we'll get another one."

Brienne scowled. The idea of showing the whole country they were more than some faddy girl group was almost enough to tempt her, but not quite enough to get her to work for the Lannisters. Everyone knew they were bad news.

"Arya? What do you say about this?" She prayed the youngest member of the group would take her side, half-hidden as she was behind her drum set.

She considered for a moment, face inscrutable beneath her unruly mop of hair.

"Signing a contract with the Lannisters sounds like trouble, they don't make deals you can just walk away from." Her sister opened her mouth in horrified protest but Arya cut Sansa off, she hadn't finished speaking. "But if we do this we'll finally get the recognition we deserve. And it's not like we'd have to share a tour bus or anything. I'm in."

"Margaery?" Brienne's voice was half an octave higher than normal, hands fisted at her sides as she felt the rug being pulled from under her.

"Sorry sweetie, I'm in too."

"I don't suppose I have to ask you Sa-"

"I'm in! I'm in! I'm in!" The red head sang happily, bouncing around like an over excited puppy. "But we can't do this without you Brienne. You're the best guitar player in the seven kingdoms, except for maybe Kingslayer of course..."

Brienne hung her head. The majority had ruled and she didn't want to be the one to let down the only friends she had in the world. She nodded resolutely.

"Fine. We'll play the damn tour."

The enthusiastic cheering of the two girlier members of the group was cut short by a loud rumble from behind the drum set.

"Now that's sorted, can we finally go eat?"

There was a diner just down the street from their rented practice room, a dime-a-dozen generic looking place that guaranteed their privacy, with the smell of grease so deeply embedded in the framework of the building no amount of Lysol would ever get it free. It'd been their second home for the past two years.

The band had been formed four years ago when they were still in school, but they'd only really started to edge towards fame in the last eight months; bigger turn outs, short interviews in the music magazines and a record deal that saw their first real album making it to number 9 on the charts. Their second album 'Songs for Fighting Dragons' was scheduled for release in two weeks time, perfectly coinciding with the start date of the Kingslayer tour. Fate, it seemed, was smiling on them.

Brienne chewed silently on a fry as the other women conversed easily about their 'big break', familiar with the blonde's silence. They made an odd sight; two dainty princess types, a pretty tom-boy, and the unfashionable giantess in the corner. They had looked even stranger in high school.

Margaery and Sansa had been friends for years when Brienne joined their school, half way through junior year. A clear foot taller than most of the teachers, Brienne was painfully shy and ruthlessly bullied, she was only truly happy with a guitar in her hands. She didn't feel like such a _freak_ when she played. Her broad shoulders and underdeveloped bust meant nothing when the music started, each note sloughing another freckle from her face and transporting her to a place where all that mattered was sound.

It was a hot August afternoon and the last bell of the day had been and gone, Friday night stretched out before the student body like a promise. Sansa was already halfway to her little blue bug when Margaery called across the parking lot. She'd forgotten her bass in the practice room _again _and they were meant to jam tonight. With a sigh and a measure of good-natured moaning, Sansa let herself be dragged back into the school. The hallways were sweaty in the summer heat. They heard the music from a mile away, the familiar buzz of an electric guitar plugged into one of the school's cut-price amps. The song was familiar too, some hit pop-rock record that was doing the rounds, and it was utterly predictable until without warning, the song changed. The familiar riff evolved into something else. The base elements were the same but altered, improved. As the two girls crept closer they heard the unmistakable sounds of someone singing quietly along, a strangers voice, husky and resonant but decidedly female.

Sneaking towards the crack in the door Sansa grabbed her friends arm in excitement; they'd talked about starting a band since they were children but had never found the right guitarist to join them. All the good ones in school were in bands already or were too arrogant to even bother asking. A glance told her Margaery was having the same brain wave she was, _this girl is perfect_. Peering ever so carefully around the gap, so as not to disturb the mystery player, Sansa didn't see the wire in front of her foot until it was too late. She fell, dragging both of them into the room with a crash as they went sailing into the drum kit.

Brienne shot of her feet, her broad face flushing crimson to the roots of her hair. The school was not as empty as she'd believed. Stuttering something apologetic she'd shoved her guitar back into its case and went to high-tail it out of the room, but was stopped as suddenly as she'd moved by the ginger girl hurling herself into Brienne's path.

"You're amazing! Who are you? Where did you learn to play like that? Are you in a band? Do you want to be in a band? Cos we have a-"

Margaery cut off her babbling friend, pulling herself gracefully to her feet. "What she's trying to say is, 'We're very sorry for interrupting you like that but you play very well.'" Smoothing down her sky blue sun dress she offered the unconventionally tall girl her hand. "I'm Margaery Tyrell and this is Sansa Stark. You, if I'm not mistaken, are the new student Brienne Tarth?"

Brienne nodded, shaking the other girls hand warily and hoping that her palms weren't too sweaty from playing.

"Well Brienne, we were heading to my house to jam, you should join us."

Not waiting for a reply the two girls swept her away down the hall, barely pausing to let her swing her instrument onto her back. Fear and confusion fought for dominance as she followed them, wondering what joke the two obviously attractive and popular girls planned that she'd end up the punch line for. If she hadn't promised her father she'd try and make friends, she'd have honestly run away then and there.

The punch line never came and, much to Brienne's surprise, they played well together. Sansa had a sweet, strong voice and Margaery was a natural bassist (she blamed the violin lessons she'd been forced to take as a child). Then one evening, a few months later Sansa's little sister, had kicked the door to the garage open and demanded to be allowed to drum for them. It helped in her anger management, the Stark's mother had said, and she was good at it too.

"So the tour goes from Dorne to the Wall, before going all the way back down again to finish with four nights in Kings Landing." Sansa threw a fry at Brienne to get her attention. She was apparently repeating something that had already been discussed. "I texted mum and she'll bring the contracts and itinerary and everything over on Thursday for us to sign. She's going over them tomorrow with Kingslayer's manager."

"Tyrion Lannister? I thought they'd just send a lawyer or something." Brienne grumbled, pulling the offending fry from her short blonde hair and eating it.

"I think he is a lawyer... They're doing it all manager-to-manager anyway, don't worry I'm sure Mum has it covered."

Catelyn Stark had been the band's manager for just over a year. Taking over the role when school had ended, and she'd heard the determination in her daughters' voices and talent that the girls played with. Their first manager, well…_potential_ manager, had lasted less than a week. He'd approached them after a show at a local coffee house, when they were still in their final year, with his slicked back hair and designer suit. It seemed like all their dreams had come true. That was until their first proper meeting.

He'd shown up half an hour late with a leggy blonde girl on his arm. "Girls!" He greeted them with a clap "Great to see you again!"

Because of his swanky office and shiny shoes they had been prepared to excuse him for his lateness. Jumping up from their leather chairs the girls shook hands with their new manager, excited to sign a contract and cut a record at last.

"Now before we start there's a couple of things we have to change right off the bat. I've handled a dozen girl groups in my time and these are very necessary changes if you truly want to be stars. You do want to be stars don't you?"

A round of earnest agreements and a squeaked, 'yes sir' from Sansa, were cut short as he continued.

"Good. The first step we've got to take is to change the name. What does 'Oathkeeper' even mean? It's boring, forget it. From now on you'll be 'The Vixen Girls'."

"What does that mean? Aren't all vixens girls?" Sansa wrinkled her delicate nose in confusion at the suggestion.

"Who cares? It's fresh, sexy. Step two, the drummer – you got potential but you have to stop dressing like a boy. Get a skirt and proper haircut, love."

Margaery held the younger girl back, steam almost visibly rising from Arya's ears as she surged forward. Brienne stepped in front of them to keep the man from insulting any more of her friends, but he was too quick.

"Step three, most importantly, you gotta go sweetie. Sorry, but you just don't fit the look of the band. We need someone with style and, well you just can't put lipstick on a pig. That's where Jenny comes in, as you're new guitarist-" He turned to introduced the model beside him when Sansa did the most un-Sansa like thing they'd ever seen. She punched him, hard and smack straight in the mouth.

"How dare you." She seethed, fist throbbing at her side as she prepared to swing again, Margaery only just grabbing her in time.

"Seven fucking hells! I'm only trying to help you!" He shrieked, clutching his bleeding mouth. "Fuck this. You're not that good. Get out of my office and good luck getting anywhere with _that_ in your stupid little band!"

Brienne didn't even know how they got outside, the fresh air suddenly ruffling her hair after the heated office. Contrary to her usual blush of humiliation, all the blood had drained from her face as her worst fears were confirmed. She'd been an idiot to think she had a shot at stardom with a face like hers. Her head was spinning with the realization and self-loathing surged up from her stomach, leaving her mouth tasting like metal. _Lipstick on a pig._ He was right, everyone at school had said as much. And all the kids growing up. She was ugly, unnatural Brienne, and it was time she stopped being so selfish and let her friends have the chance they deserved. She took a deep, trembling breath to say as much.

"Hold it right there, Bri." Sansa stopped her before she started. "Whatever you're thinking of saying, don't. You are gorgeous and special and talented and there is NO band without you."

"She's right," Margaery agreed.

"For once." Arya piped up, slinging an arm around her friend's waist.

Brienne looked at her band mates with glossy eyes, her heart pounding in her chest, and to her great shame she started to cry. Huge sobbing tears of hurt and pain and affection that turned her baby blues red, and made her face puffy as her band mates, and more importantly _friends_, enveloped her in her first group hug.

Another fry bounced off her cheek. Brienne blinked in surprise.

"God, Bri, are you paying attention at all? This is kind of a big deal!"

"Calm down Sansa, she's probably still in shock that we get to spend the next four months with MTV's 'Most Sexy Man in Westeros,'" Margaery teased, ignoring the look of disgust levelled her way by one half of the table.

"Unlikely." Brienne snorted "Who wants to work with a Lannister?"

"Seconded," Arya chipped in. "The whole family is creepy. I heard the little guy, Tyrion, was in rehab for a year. And now he spends all his time with the Kingslayer groupies."

"Well, Jaime 'Sexy Kingslayer himself' Lannister is even stranger. He's seen flirting with all of these models, but never actually dates them, y'know? Rumour has it he's been having a secret affair." Sansa added sagely, she spent a lot of time in the glossy world of gossip magazines.

Margaery choked on her diet coke, raising an accusatory fry at the table in general. "That's nothing, I heard from my brother that said affair is with that nasty step-sister of his. The model-slash-actress, 'Cersei'."

"Well that's creepy." Arya said through a mouthful of food.

"Mmhmm. What do you think Bri?"

Brienne chewed thoughtfully as her mind flashed pictures of overly attractive blondes with eyes like broken glass. "The whole family is wrong. Tywin Lannister makes Citizen Kane look like a Disney prince."

There was a dark murmur of assent from the table. Everyone knew about the Lannister Corporation and their shady operations. The Lannisters seemed to have a finger in every pie, from the 'Lannister Media and News Publishing Group' to 'Lannister Lion Airlines', TV channels all the way to transportation. There was even a rumour that Twyin Lannister was considering going into politics and running for President in the next election. Then there were the stories of the companies left behind, those trampled by the Lannister machine, absorbed and disbanded and put out of business by the corporation. Even more disturbing were the rumours about the people who had gone missing completely. There was something not right about that family, and everyone knew it.

"Still, Kingslayer is the greatest musician of our generation." Sansa tried to drum up their enthusiasm again. "His songs, his voice, and not to mention the wavy hair and bronzed body of a demi-god."

"Thanks for the visual." Brienne huffed, sarcasm lacing her words.

"He's the most famous man in Westeros! Even more famous than his scary, evil tyrant of a business man, father."

"And _we're_ his opening act."

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((Well readers? Should I give up already or is there hope for this beast? :D Next time I promise thrills, spills and maybe if we're lucky the man himself might decide to turn up. I'd really love to hear how you imagine Kingslayer/Oathkeeper would sound - what songs do you think they'd play or music you think relates to the characters? I need to bulk up my writing playlist!

All reviewers for this chapter will receive concert ticket's to Kingslayer's first tour date in Sunspear, transportation and hotels not included, so don't be shy! ))


	2. Chapter 2: Back Stage

((Thank you so much everyone who has reviewed so far, it's safe to say my playlist has grown exponentially and y'all have really cool taste in music! Once again I cannot say enough 'thank you's to my amazing beta IdesofApril (one day I hope to be half as good a writer as she is) I am seriously gonna have to send you a fruit-basket by the time this fic is over!))

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Catelyn Stark was going into battle.

The jacket of her pant suit had shoulder pads from a bygone era, her cell phone was clipped to her belt in a way that made her eldest daughter wince, and her hair was pulled back tightly.

She hadn't always been the manager of a mildly successful, female-only, rock band. For the longest time she'd been a professor of history at Wintertown University. And then she'd had a child, and another, and another, until her family had out grown their two-bedroom starter home and she'd given up her work completely in the pursuit of raising her children. Time passed, as it so often does, and before she knew it Arya was leaving school, and Bran and Rickon were becoming 'too cool' to hang out with Mum any more. Restless and noticing increasingly just how good her daughters' band was getting, she'd decided to take action.

She ordered and devoured three books on the music industry, absorbing 'Music Management for Dummies' in one evening alone. She put the rusty skills that had made her such an effective teacher back to use as she studied networking and circulation, appropriate contracts, and sponsorship deals. Then she took her proposition to her daughters, both her blood and those two in spirit. She agreed to support them for one year, help them in any way they could to break into the music industry. Then, if they didn't make any progress in that time frame, she'd go back to teaching and they'd have to find something else to do with their lives.

The girls jumped at the chance, Professor Stark was the perfect blend of Sansa's diplomacy and Arya's aggressiveness. With her at their backs they stood a fighting chance.

Straightening the prim Manila folder in her arms, Catelyn Stark marched into the centrally heated oasis of the Northern branch of the Lannister Media Management Group. She snapped her name and appointment time out to the icy receptionist, before being ushered to the express elevator that led directly to 'Mr Tyrion's Office'. The canned muzak grated on her nerves, tense and unsure as she was, and made her more aware of how much she wasn't sure what awaited her above.

The doors opened directly into the office, understated yet expensive, decorated in mahogany and leather.

"Ah, Professor Stark, thank you for joining me." Tyrion Lannister raised his head from his work, motioning with a hand to the free chair opposite him.

Catelyn opened her mouth to correct him for calling her 'Mrs Stark' only to realize he had not, in fact, done so. "Mr Lannister," She recovered, with a curt nod and shook his hand briefly. No amount of expensive tailoring could disguise Tyrion's small stature, but neither could his reading glasses hide the fierce intelligence in his characteristically Lannister-green eyes.

"Tyrion, please," he said warmly "Mr. Lannister is my father."

_I know, _she thought darkly even as she smiled at him, determined not to show her contempt.

"Tyrion, I've brought the amendments I mentioned on the phone. I'm afraid these are going to be fairly non-negotiable." She laid the folder in front of him and continued, not waiting for him to catch up. "The members of Oathkeeper will get their own designated dressing room in each venue. If that cannot be arranged at any individual venue, because of space, than they will share a dressing room with other female acts only. They will have their own separate bus, and driver, for the duration of the tour. Most importantly: no drugs, illegal substances or illegal acts will be undertaken by any person involved in the tour, including the other acts, for the tour's run. I will not have them associated with any licentious behaviour that could damage their reputation."

She was fairly bristling at the end of her speech, daring the most infamously rowdy member of the Lannister family to say something to the contrary. She read the same magazines as her daughter and knew his reputation, as well as exactly how long he'd stayed in that remote rehab centre in the Vale.

"Yes, of course, very sensible additions. I shall have the lawyer add these clauses in immediately, and have the documents fed-ex'd back to you tonight for your perusal. Then, if you and the young ladies could join us here tomorrow, we can get everything signed and the details sorted."

"So soon?" Catelyn was taken aback momentarily. She had expected demurrals and half promises, not an immediate agreement and a next day signing. She knew the business worked fast, but this speed was nigh unheard of.

"Yes. With the first tour date just under a fortnight away and the pre-show rehearsals with lighting, sound work, and press to get out of the way, we have no time for hesitation." He gave a world weary sigh. "We did have this all sorted it out with the Bloody Mummers, but we had to cancel them last minute. Something about, 'creative differences' between the acts,' whatever that means. I can't thank you, or the band, enough for helping us by stepping in like this. It should be good exposure for Oathkeeper too. If you could have your merchandising team send over their specs, we can get the t-shirts and CDs made up just in time for the first show I think."

Catelyn nodded airily, as if the 'merchandising team' wasn't just her still struggling to remain on top of the situation. "Yes, of course, we'll see to that immediately."

"Very well then, shall we get down to the itinerary planning? As you can see here is a list of the dates the bands will be expected to play..."

Catelyn found herself playing catch up for the rest of the day and desperately trying not to show it. She hoped that she hadn't signed her girls up for anything they might later regret.

Two weeks passed in the blur for the members of Oathkeeper. After the contract had been signed they'd been swept away in a whirlwind of set lists and rehearsals, lighting tests and fittings, travelling to interviews to answer vanilla flavoured questions like, "_how long have you been fans of Kingslayer yourselves?"_ Not to mention the six hour photo shoot that they had to schedule for eleven at night, just to fit it in. "_Yes you, the tall one, could you just step a little further back please, bit more. Perfect, now smile girls!" _

Before they could blink, or sleep it seemed, they were rolling off the obnoxiously long flight from Wintertown and into the blinding Dornish sunlight, shedding their winter layers like snakes. As soon as the plane touched down they were hustled into a private parking lot where the fleet of tour buses sat, and were left there as the management sorted the staff and crew towards their own vehicles, whilst awaiting the main attraction's private jet.

The band stood mutely in front of the gleaming behemoth of a vehicle that they'd be calling home for the next four months. It was so much larger than any of them had expected. Black and silver chrome, shining in the sunlight, with blacked out windows and, most disconcertingly, a whacking great image of the band printed on the side.

"Is that... us?" Arya fiddled with the strap of her duffle bag, suddenly intimidated by the four-foot version of herself smirking back at her, it's polished make up and designer hair style completely at odds with the scruffy jet-lagged girl it was supposed to represent.

"Kind of," Margaery replied after a moment, stepping closer to run her hand across the graphic, 'Oathkeeper' was scrawled elegantly across the flawless design. "It's _like_ us, but much more airbrushed."

Brienne snorted, she'd been given the heaviest hand in the retouching and was almost unrecognisable but at least none of the rest of the band had escaped the photo-shopper unscathed either. "We look like Pixar characters," she deadpanned.

Arya laughed, but Sansa was fluttering her hands in a way they'd all come to associate with nerves. "Why is my head so much bigger than everyone else's?" She squeaked.

"You're the lead singer, of course your head is the biggest," Margaery soothed. "It's perfectly normal, Sansa."

"I didn't realize that was a thing," she mumbled in return, even as her sister whipped out her iPhone to snap a picture of the bus.

"My twitter followers need this," Arya muttered gleefully, before stashing the phone and hauling her case towards the door. "Shall we, ladies?"

They were interrupted by the sound of screaming, lots of screaming. Turning towards the sound they watched as sleek black SUV pulled up in front of another (larger still) bus across the parking lot from them. A crowd of teenagers were pressed up to the chain link fence separating the tour buses from the rest of the airport parking lot, signs and flowers clutched in their hands as they experienced a group melt down.

"Wait - were they always there?" Sansa blinked at the crying teenagers and the squad of sharply dressed brutes that kept them at bay even through the fence.

"They must be here for the Kingslayer," Brienne sneered, watching the seething mass of hormones that one over-rated rock star could produce. As if on cue a golden head emerged from the SUV, they were too far away to get a good look, but from the reaction of the fans they had no doubt about who it was. "I do not understand what they see in him."

"Oh, I think I could suggest a few things." Margaery retorted with an approving look as the singer waved to his fans briefly before disappearing inside of his bus, hustled after by a legion of staff.

"D'you think we should go introduce ourselves?" Sansa's hands were fluttering at her sides again. Brienne reached down and grasped them firmly between her calloused hands, effectively stopping the motion.

"No, there will be time for that later." _Gods I hope there's not time for that later, _she amended silently. "Catelyn and Ros will be here in a minute with the driver, we should have a look around first."

Margaery nodded, and helped usher Sansa out of the hot sunlight and into the bus. Arya was already running ahead to be the first in. "Holy shit it's bigger on the inside," she shouted from the doorway.

"Arya Stark, mind your language." Catelyn snapped her phone shut as she joined the girls. A pretty red-head was following her, trailing two large suitcases. "We'll be staying at a hotel next to the Sunspear Super-Stadium for the next three nights so don't unpack yet. Tonight you've got a short interview with the Sunspear Daily and then tomorrow you're stage rehearsals start eleven with the concert starting at eight." She looked up from her notes when no one responded, "Girls?"

"I don't think they're listening Cate." Ros Burton, make-up artist extrordinaire and official band stylist, pushed her sunglasses onto her head and followed the girls onto the bus. "And I can see why."

The vehicle was huge, more than spacious enough for the four band members, their manager and stylist. The rest of the crew would be getting an entirely separate bus all to themselves. With its kitchen, bathroom, six bunks, and two living spaces, Brienne could safely say it was bigger than her whole apartment.

"The beds have DVD players in them!" Sansa called excitedly to Arya, who was already rifling through the cupboards full of their favourite snacks (and the healthy alternatives Catelyn had obviously insisted on).

"They may have DVD players but I'm pretty sure we're gonna have to chop Brienne's feet off to get her in with them." Margaery considered solemnly, joining them from her inspection of the leather-couched seating area, with its 37" TV and gaming system.

"Give it a try," Sansa nudged. With a sigh Brienne dropped her bag and hauled herself into the top of the three-stacked beds. Stretching her toes out, she only just brushed the wall, her hair grazing against the other end. "It's close but I think I'm just about in, so long as there are no sudden movements."

"Shoes, Brienne!" Their manager chided, watching the tallest band member drop dutifully from the bunk.

"Sorry, Catelyn." It had taken two years for Brienne to stop calling Sansa and Arya's mother 'Professor Stark,' and the words still felt uneasy in her mouth.

"So, when do you think we'll get to meet him?" Sansa asked out of the blue, dropping into the booth seating the kitchen was supplied with, Margaery falling in beside her.

"Who?" Arya asked through a mouth full of skittles.

"The Kingslayer!" She replied exasperated. Brienne was the last one to join them, just as the bus driver, a robust looking woman of 65 or so, arrived and started revving the bus to life.

"Hopefully never." Brienne mumbled as the vehicle pulled away and joined the rest of the concert fleet, heading into the city properly. "Shouldn't we be more interested in talking about the concert we have to give tomorrow?"

"Nah," Arya waved her concern away. "We've got loads of time."

32 hours, one interview and a painfully short dress rehearsal later Arya had changed her tune.

"We don't have time for this!" The drummer called after the retreating backs of her friends. They were heading towards the wings of the stage, eating directly into the forty-five minutes they had left for make-up and final checks.

Margaery pulled the curtain open just enough to see the arena beyond. Ten thousand screaming fans, ten times the amount they'd ever played to before, were quickly filling the place. The arena had been imposing during their rehearsals but now it was downright terrifying. The band crowded around the gap, butterflies turning to dragons in their stomachs as they watched. They'd stolen quickly out of their dressing room for a look at the crowd whilst Ros' back was turned. Dressed identically in the ugly black robes she forced on them to 'protect their outfits,' they were feeling slightly ridiculous as they stared out over the gathering crowd. Everyone in Sunspear seemed to have turned up for the show.

"That's a lot of people," Brienne noted, tugging at the belt on her robe absently and wishing she had her guitar to toy with instead.

"It is a lot of people. What if... What if they don't like us? What if I can't sing? My voice was sounding a bit hoarse earlier in the dress rehearsal, what if it cracks on that high C in 'Maiden's Fall'?" Sansa was practically hovering with nervous tension, wringing her hands together as she stared out over the growing crowd with blue eyes wide enough to pop.

"You'll be fine Sansa. We'll all be fine." Despite her calm words even the unshakable Margaery was looking a little, well, shaken. "We'll just go out there and do our thing and if they don't like it then... then..."

Arya smashed her drumstick into a nearby exposed pipe loud enough to get all three girl's attention. She fixed them all with her steeliest gaze. "Stop worrying, we're awesome." She checked the screen of her phone and continued, "And we're supposed to be in make-up right now."

They followed Arya back towards their brightly lit dressing room, trying desperately to put thoughts of the crowd out of their minds as they let Ros work her magic on each girl in turn. Brienne was the last one in, waiting outside the cramped dressing room for her turn so she could pace in peace. The silence helped clear her head before a big show, and this was going to be a very big show. It was on her third rotation around the hallway that someone interrupted her.

Someone cleared their throat from behind her, causing her to jump. "'Scuse me, Mister. D'you happen to know where the bathrooms are in this place? I'm dying for a piss."

Brienne turned on her (very tall) heels to glare at the rude man behind her. She stopped short and cursed every god she'd ever heard of, and a few she might have made up. It was the bloody Kingslayer himself. He was all golden hair and impeccably fitted clothing and, from the slight slur to his speech, he was slightly inebriated too.

"Gods, you're a woman! I would never have guessed that. Or are you one of those... y'know... ladyboys? That's not the right term is it? Transvestite?"

She hated him. She'd only lain eyes on him 10 seconds ago and already, she knew that with every burning fibre of her being, she hated him. She prayed to the gods she wasn't red from anger, or embarrassment, and jerked a thumb in the direction of the backstage bathrooms.

"That way, Kingslayer," she bit out from between clenched teeth.

"Oh, have I offended you? I'm very sorry," He sounded anything but, green eyes sparkling with laughter, "Let me give you an autograph to make up for it, anything for a fan."

"I'm not your fan." She practically spat at him, "I'm with another act."

A horde of scantily clad dancers rushed down the corridor as she spoke, each one more pin up perfect than the last, and all of them dressed in the same kind of ridiculous Oktober Fest dress that had become so popular after being featured in the Kingslayer's latest music video. Even so the tipsy star didn't take his eyes off the prickly giantess he was sharing a hallway with.

"You're not one of those dancing wenches are you? Is that's what under that robe? You better tell me quickly before I have to fire the casting agent."

Brienne was thrumming with rage, heat spreading across her face in a wave of crimson as she drew herself up to her full height. In flat's she was probably only an inch or two taller than him, but the extra four inches the wardrobe department had forced on her gave her the perfect advantage for looking down her nose at him. He was exactly the kind of rude, arrogant, hack she'd assumed he would be, and she would not give him the satisfaction of her anger.

"You will not provoke me."

"Pretty sure I already have done, _wench_." His grin widened as he took a swaggering step forward. Brienne opened her mouth in rebuttal but didn't get a word out before she was interrupted.

"Yooooour turn!" Sansa skipped out of the make-up room and froze, not entirely sure what she'd just fallen into. She felt like she'd just stepped into a lightning storm, the air was so static with tension. "Uhm... am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all," Jaime laughed. "I'll see _you_ later, big gal." Saluting them lazily he turned and walked off down the hallway, leaving Brienne almost shaking with pent up aggression behind him.

"Was that who I think that was?" Margaery stuck her head around the door, staring after the retreating star.

"I think so." Sansa nodded slowly before both girls turned as one to stare at Brienne. "What was he like?"

"Insufferable." She turned on her heel and stalked into the make-up room, not listening to Ros' chatter as she replayed the conversation over and over in her head and coming up with a hundred different ways she could have verbally annihilated him. She didn't calm down until she was standing in place behind the mile-high curtain, with her guitar in her hand and the house lights dropping like flies. She wasn't even nervous any more, just angry and righteously convinced he was as bad as she'd been led to believe. _Dancing wench_, she thought gratingly, _I'll show him_.

The curtain went up.

The crowd roared.

* * *

(( Annnnd I'm leaving ya there! :D Thanks again reviewers and readers and everyone else who stuck around for chapter two! Anymore music suggestions (since you guys are clearly very very cool) are greatly encouraged and appreciated!

All reviewers for this chapter will get exclusive access to Oathkeeper's post-show signing session at the Sunspear Global Music Store, once again travel and hotel not included.))


	3. Chapter 3: Front Row

((And we're back! Thank you so much to everyone whose left reviews, follows & favourites so far - you're making this whole fic writing business incredibly fun so big love to you all 3 Flowers and chocolates to the beta-of-the-century IdesofApril for making me look far better than I actually am, you are my hero!

In case anyone wants to play-along-at-home with Oathkeeper's performance 'Maiden's Fall' is just a rewritten version of the song 'Mz Hyde' by Halestorm so give that a youtube if you want to hear it in action... And on with the show!))

* * *

Jaime Lannister had spent the last five years of his life surrounded by beautiful women.

Dancers, models, actresses, it had been a veritable wallpaper of human perfection. And it seemed like every last one of them had wanted something from him. They'd wanted fifteen minutes of fame, or a few words to a specific casting director. He was always just a story to tell their friends. It had been exhausting, living up to their expectations of what the famous _Kingslayer _should be. He had the flashy little sports cars, the witty one liners, he got the reservations no one else could get, and he bought the expensive gifts. Yet, in the end, he realized he had truly cared only as much about their thoughts and feelings as they did his. Which was not at all.

That depressing realization had hit him when it turned out the fourth 'IT' girl he'd been introduced too, that month, didn't know that his name wasn't actually 'Kingslayer'.

"It's Lannister, of course." One of the others had answered, as if the first girl was the stupid one, while she picked over her $100 salad.

"Of course it is," he'd replied with a smile. He knew then and there that there was no point getting attached to any of them. He would stick to what he knew, who he knew, even if _who he knew _didn't care for him anymore. Even though he knew _she_ didn't want to know him anymore

"These rumours are hurting my acting career. I can't have any association like that between us," she'd told him point blank at last, pushing him out of her apartment with perfectly manicured hands. "It's not worth the risk."

"But they're not rumours," he'd replied, running his hands through his hair hard enough to hurt. "We're supposed to be in love, you said before that you..." He felt himself almost begging, sentences hanging unfinished in the air as he tried to make her remember what they had been to one another, "Cer-"

"Don't." She cut off his pleading, "There's no room for that in this business. Grow up, Jaime."

She'd slammed the door in his face but at least _she_ remembered his name.

Not like the other girls. The one's he'd wined and dined and showed off for the cameras. No, they bored him to tears.

The giantess from the hallway invaded his thoughts again, shaking loose his melancholy train of thought. It had barely been half an hour since their encounter, but he'd found her playing on his mind over and over. She certainly wasn't a beauty queen, by anyone's standards, but gods it'd been fun to mess with her. He hadn't enjoyed a conversation like that in years.

Jaime stared blankly at the mirror of his dressing room, as his new make-up artist set about fixing his face for the stage. He wondered what that woman had meant by saying she was 'with another act.' She was no one he'd ever seen before, that was for sure. With a jolt he realized that whilst he didn't have the answers, he knew someone who did. He pulled out his phone with a genuine smile.

Two short texts later and Tyrion was running through the door to his dressing room, out of breath and decidedly rumpled.

"What's the emergency, brother?" he panted, hands braced against his short legs.

"Who's the giant blonde woman I saw in the hallway and what does she do around here?"

"_Seriously?_" Tyrion's tone was more disbelief than anger, "you made it sound like you were dying in here!"

"But I am," Jaime protested with a laugh, shrewdly watching as his brother rapidly straightened up at the sight of the only woman in the room. "I'm just _dying_ to know who she is."

"So help me gods, I want to punch you sometimes," Tyrion mumbled, tearing his eyes away from the pretty Lorathi girl. "There is, however, a blonde woman of some considerable stature in your supporting act I believe. If you'd read any of the dozens of emails I sent you about them, you'd already know this."

"Yes, yes, but who has the time for that?" Jaime was already turning the knowledge around in his head. Tyrion wouldn't have invited anyone on tour who he didn't think was talented. He had a surprisingly good ear for those kinds of things, despite not having a musical bone in his short body. "What's her name? What does she _do_?"

Pulling out his tablet computer, the younger Lannister brother quickly flipped through the act and crew log he had had made to keep track of everyone. "Is this her?"

"That's the one!" Jaime leaned forward in his chair to get a better look at the photo, causing the make-up girl to smack him on the back of the head. The picture was tightly framed, barely more than a head shot, but the hostility was clear. She stared out of the photo with obvious distrust.

Withdrawing the tablet, Tyrion sighed. "Her name is Brienne Tarth. She's lead guitarist and backup vocalist for Oathkeeper, your support band. There about to go on now, I think, why are you so-"

He never got to finish his sentence, as Jaime leapt from his chair. Clapping his younger brother on the shoulder, he practically ran from the room, the abandoned make-up artist shouting at him in his wake. He turned at the last second and called back, "Thanks little brother! You two should go ahead introduce yourselves in my absence," before disappearing down the corridor.

Tyrion looked up at the beautiful, and very disgruntled, make-up artist. "Tyrion Lannister," he said, offering his hand. "I'm Jaime's manager, and brother."

"I figured that out," she replied sulkily, before her face softened into a smile at the way he was awkwardly adjusting his tie. "I'm Shae."

A voice was coming over the speaker system as Jaime jogged towards the stage, booming throughout the arena.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, prepare yourselves for our opening act! Invited personally here tonight, by the Kingslayer himself, his new favourite band and yours! Get ready to rock to the sound of... OATHKEEPER!"

"Favourite band? No one told me," he muttered as he hit the wings. He took up a position in the shadows between the wall and the stage curtain, to give himself the best possible view of the action.

He felt the crowd's excitement as the curtain went up and everyone started screaming.

There was a moment of silence for the band, even with the roar of the stadium. One shared second between the four women on stage, as the spot lights hit them and the breath was pulled from their lungs at the enormity of their situation. Jaime noticed the lead singer blinking in the light, faint tremors running through her hands, before the nerves could take over completely the pixie-like drummer was smashing her drumsticks together over her head.

"One, Two, One Two Three Four!"

Brienne's plectrum struck the strings, her fingers seemingly moving independently of her brain, as the music tore out of them. Heavy and uncompromising, it was far from the sugar-spun pop music most people expected when they heard the phrase 'girl band,' each of them contributing their own thread to the song. The singer, a ginger girl, had a voice that dripped sweetness and darkness simultaneously, over a deeply visceral sound. The sound wired itself from the ears of the crowd, directly down their spinal cords, and made them jump and writhe in time.

Jaime watched with something vaguely close to respect, they had talent that was for sure. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if they'd last once the shiny glow of the music industry had washed off, and the naivety of youth was ripped from them. He'd seen dozens, dozens of dozens, of bands in his time try to break into the music scene and not make it. Talent and charisma could only take you so far. If Oathkeeper survived this tour, however, they might just have a chance.

Apart from the music he was most surprised at how well the not-a-dancing wench had scrubbed up. She still wasn't a beauty, by any stretch of the imagination, not like the delicate redhead in the umber silk dress with copper wire waist cincher. Nor was she sultry like the brunette, in her cut-grass green halter neck and vine-like, twisting golden arm braces. Even the drummer was more conventionally pretty than tall the guitarist, with her punky red playsuit and loose bronze chain-mail vest. But the stage lighting, and sharp styling, made Brienne's awkward size striking instead of strange. She commanded the stage. Her broad shoulders were covered in spiked armour plates, and she had dripping chains across her pale, wide collarbone. Those long legs of hers became impossibly longer in tight black leggings, and her fitted blue silk shirt was trying (and failing) to make mountains out of molehills. Still, the bright colour made her eyes practically glow underneath her heavy black eye make-up. _Like sapphires_.

Brienne played as if there was no one there, every note was exactly where it ought to be as she shredded her solo. It was almost as if the music was controlling her, instead of the other way around. It strengthened her spine, and she was practically radiating power from the soles of her black heels all the way to the tips of her gelled platinum hair. This was a woman no one messed with.

Him seeing her like that, so fierce, made Jaime experience an emotion bordering on wistfulness, nostalgia even. He found himself wondering when the last time was that he had played with that much conviction, if ever

"The little man's looking for you."

Jaime looked around, and then up, pulled from his thoughts with a start. "Why am I surrounded by giants today?" He muttered to himself, before raising his voice over the music. "The 'little man's' name is Tyrion."

"Do I give a fuck?"

Jaime recognized the huge brute, with his snarled shoulder length brown hair and hideously scarred face. He wasn't someone you'd easily forget. "You're the new drummer in my act, aren't you?"

The man nodded with a sort of non-committal shrug.

"Sandor-something? Clarence?"

"Clegane."

"That's it," Jaime snapped his fingers as the pieces fell into place, and his uneasy thoughts were pushed aside in favour of his usual self-assuredness, "You're Gregor Clegane's little brother." There was nothing particularly little about Sandor Clegane, however. Jaime watched with interest as his eye twitched at his brother's name, hostility tightening his mouth like a bow string. "Don't like to be associated with him, do you, the famous older brother with a bad record? Well, we've all got one like that in the family." Jaime grinned, thinking of some of the things he'd put Tyrion through, even if those mishaps didn't come close to the rap sheet Gregor Clegane had. Westeros' former thrash-metal prodigy was currently serving time for attempted murder. Jaime fixed his grin on the rapidly angering Sandor, raising one eyebrow conspiratorially. "Is that the reason you have that silly nickname, the _Handsome_, or whatever they call you?"

"They call me the Hound, _Kingslayer,_" he growled. His baritone was barely audible over the loud music. "You'd do well to remember it."

"You ain't nothing but one!" Jaime laughed walking past the other man towards the dressing room as if he'd been meaning to go there all along, and Sandor's reminder was just a coincidence. He easily ignored the larger man's glare, burning holes into his back as he retreated. The music he'd heard though, was harder to ignore. With a sound like that he couldn't help wonder if one day they might be playing with him, not for him. Their guitarist in particular.

The Hound stood for a moment, tamping down the anger the arrogant rock star had induced in him. As he breathed, he found his attention becoming distracted by the band on stage. The crowd's screaming wasn't quite loud enough to drown out the nightingale sweet voice he'd never heard before. Her gentle tones so at odds with the pounding music that accompanied her, and yet somehow fitting it completely. He glanced quickly into the spot light. The singer was just as delicate as her voice. She was beautiful, in a fragile sort of way that made him feel like a bull confronted with a china tea cup. Blinking stupidly, he shook himself out of his thoughts and stalked after the Kingslayer towards the dressing rooms, his anger returning. There was no point in entertaining thoughts of beauty or delicacy when he knew, from experience, that even the award-winning make-up department would take one look at his face and give up.

"Alright, everyone," Sansa called out into the crowd, her voice ever so slightly husky from singing. "We just want to thank you all for being here tonight, and making this the best gig of our lives!" She grinned, the steady repetitive beat of Margaery's bass keeping time, just like they'd practiced. "We just have time for one more song. This is something special, something we haven't played live before. It's the next single from our new album, 'Songs for Fighting Dragons,' which comes out tomorrow, by the way. Without further ado, we give you..._Maiden's Fall!_"

They hit the first note perfectly in sync, over the roar of the crowd chanting their name.

"_On his shining horse, he's your white knight,  
Flashing eyes tryin' ta tell you to hold on tight.  
Climb up behind him, and try to catch your breath,  
He doesn't know that this maiden's not so innocent_

_Better beware she's not ready to fall,_  
_You should be scared, better raise your sword,_  
_And you will try,_  
_just like the others_  
_You can lie_  
_but she knows better_  
_Boy you better run for your life!_

_You can't even fight it, run instead_

_Say hello to something scary_

_The dragon in your bed_

_Just give or you'll be sorry_

_Boy you better run for your life_

_Now it's time to die."_

Despite its fledgling status, the arena stomped and danced to their new song. The concert goers were barely visible behind the hot stage lights, but the band could just make out the hundreds of banners waving in the air as they played (even if the banners did say _Kingslayer_). The last note hung in the air for one drawn out moment, before the lights went out and the curtain dropped. Oathkeeper half ran, were half dragged off, stage by the swarm of roadies responsible for breaking down and reassembling the space for the main act.

Too exhausted to speak, they exchanged unintelligible shrieks of elation, as they fell towards their dressing room. Each one hugging any other band member they could reach as they went. At last, panting heavily, her face dripping with sweat and eyeliner, Arya regained the power of speech. "That was incredible."

"So much better than playing that grotty nightclub in Winterfell!" Sansa squealed.

"It was better than sex," Margaery giggled, breathless. "Well, nearly."

Brienne pretended her blush was from the heat of their forty five minute set list and not from the implications of the band's bassist. "It was pretty good."

"Pretty good?! We didn't get booed off stage! It was a bloody victory!" Sansa sprang one of her surprise-swears on the group, as she tried to hug everyone again.

"Easy, tiger." Margaery ruffled her friend's perfect copper locks before disappearing behind one of the dressing screens. "We should change before Kingslayer starts. I'm dying to watch him play at last."

"Yes! There's a special VIP area in one of the wings! Mum said we could watch from there if we wanted." Sansa was practically floating as she began hunting around the dressing room for anything without glitter and chains glued to it.

"We have all tour to watch him play. We should try and get an early night instead, prepare for tomorrow's show." Brienne grumbled, the idea dampening her post-show high.

"Oh, come on Bri! It'll be fun," Arya agreed, tossing her chain-mail vest unceremoniously across the room.

"I don't think so." Brienne pulled her high heels off, hissing with a mixture of pain and relief as she freed her aching feet, too large as they were to ever be designed for elegant footwear.

"Well," said Margaery, her face lighting up mischievously as she re-emerged fully clothed, "If you can't handle the competition Brienne. He is the greatest performer in Westeros, after all. I imagine that can be a little bit _intimidating_."

Brienne bristled, "Fine. We'll watch him."

"Oh, sweetheart, you make this way too easy"

* * *

((All reviewers for this chapter will receive a coupon for ONE free ice cream cone at "Dornish Dave's Salty Snack Shack." The Saltiest Snacks in town. Coupons non-exchangeable, no cash alternative will be given. Offer valid for one month only.))


	4. Chapter 4: Ocean View

(( Hello again! This chapter turned out to be far longer than I originally thought ^^; Thanks to all the reviewers so far! :D Y'all are wonderful and I am a little bit in love with each and every one of you! 3 As always my biggest thanks has to go to my incredible beta reader idesofapril for everything - pretty sure she must have been bitten by a radioactive writing spider, she is literally that good :D Jaime's ringtone is dedicated to everyone in the fandom who seems to instinctively agree that that's what he'd listen too annnnd NME is a music magazine, in case you don't have it where you live :-) ))

* * *

"Admit it, Brienne, the Kingslayer is amazing, and _super hot_." Margaery just would not let the subject drop.

Brienne gritted her teeth. It had been four days since they'd played their first concert, they'd played another show in Sunspear before following up with two nights at the Lemon Wood Arena, throughout which time she'd managed to avoid the insufferable rock star like the plague. Luckily their wildly different schedules made this easier than she hoped, and she'd already made an art form out of avoidance tactics. She knew if he started mocking her again, she wouldn't be able to hold her tongue, and she didn't want the rest of the band to suffer on the tour due to her inability to filter. Still, she had to concede, he did play terribly well.

"He is a talented musician," Brienne said shortly, her stubby nails clenching into the arm rest as she fixed her gaze out of the window of the bus. "But he's not as amazing as everyone makes out."

"Were you at the same concert?" Margaery asked in disbelief, applying her lip gloss in the reflection of a tiny compact mirror.

Tearing her eyes away from the glittering Dornish coast line, Brienne decided to put the matter to bed once and for all. "He is an excellent guitar player, and singer, I won't deny it. But he lacks conviction. His songs are," she waved her hand around grasping for a word, "_shallow._ They don't _say_ anything. It's like they're written just to show off his talent. He's a mirror for the crowd, a reflection of what they want to see. Jaime Lannister is pretty, but empty."

"So you think he's pretty?" Margaery pounced on the admission. Ever since she'd stumbled into whatever altercation Brienne had been having with the Kingslayer she'd noticed her friend had been acting differently. Knowing Brienne had a thicker skin than week old custard she doubted it was just because, as she insisted, she found him annoying. There was more to this than met the eye and Margaery's sixth sense for gossip was tingling.

"Don't test me, Margaery." Brienne eyed her friend, wondering why she had so wilfully decided ignore the point.

"Stop arguing girls, we're almost there." Catelyn walked past them with a stern look, heading to the front of the bus to exchange words with the driver, known only as 'Nan,' and Ros, who was painting her nails beside the driver. Surprisingly, the make-up artist and old bus driver had hit it off early on. They'd even decided to head to the spa together. Today would be everyone's first day off in what felt like weeks, and everyone was determined to enjoy it.

Arya, followed by her sister, appeared through the small divider into the kitchen area. They squeezed in beside the other girls, having obviously overheard the tail end of their conversation.

"Did you see the Kingslayer's drummer though?" Arya exclaimed through a mouthful of her bagel, "he played good, but his face, man."

Sansa listened with a shiver. She hadn't admitted it to her friends, but she'd spent an equal amount of time watching the back-up performer as she had the Kingslayer himself. Horrified and fascinated in turn, at the patchwork of burns that had covered half of his face. It was hardly a polite thing for her to be doing, after all.

"I think you mean, 'played well', Arya." Margaery grinned, breaking off a bit of her friend's breakfast and eating it before she could argue. "But it's true."

"Bite me, Tyrell." She said through a deliberately large mouthful, spraying crumbs and cream cheese at her friend "I do what I want."

"Rather have the bagel, sweetie."

The band members bickered good naturedly for the rest of the journey. Their lumbering bus headed the fleet, followed by the crew and personnel staff, into a dusty parking lot on the edge of a small, but lively, tourist town. The brochure said the place was called 'Salt Harbour,' even though the small stretch of coastline was far too shallow to ever be actually used to harbour boats. Still, with the Dornish coast being mostly rocky cliffs and bluffs, the small town had found itself growing in popularity with beach-seeking tourists from the capital. Equipped with a high-class shopping mall, a historical district, and every modern comfort you could imagine, it was heaven to the tired musicians and their crews.

"You sure you two don't want to hit the mall with us?" Sansa asked as they filed off the bus, linking arms with Margaery as she did.

"Nah, the guys say there's a wicked music store on the other end of town, so we're gonna head there." Arya motioned to the hodgepodge group of apprentices hoping off the technician's bus that she had managed to befriend when no one was looking. "Have fun ladies."

"That tall one is ripped." Margaery whispered as the younger Stark ran off to join her friends, slugging a tall black haired boy in the arm good naturedly as she caught up with them.

"He's too young for you," Sansa replied with a snort, before fixing her sights on Brienne. "What about you, Bri? It'll be fun."

"You girls go on ahead. I'm just going to walk around a bit, take in the air."

"If you're sure," Sansa hummed, not understanding her friend's occasional love of solitude and constant lack of interest in the fine art of shopping. "And we're still meeting at that restaurant at half twelve?"

"Yes, I have the google map directions saved to my phone." Brienne sighed, holding her phone up and shaking it in front of Sansa, having been through this conversation a hundred times before with the Stark girl.

"Well, if you're _sure _that you're sure. Have fun!"

Brienne waved off the other girls before turning around to set off on her own, following the driftwood signpost advertising the direction of the beach. It wasn't hard to find, a trailing red dirt path leading down towards the ocean, lined with scrub brushes and sand. Popping in her ear buds she turned up the volume of her iPod and smiled. The air was full of salt and the scent of citrus fruit, and the sunshine felt amazing.

She'd missed this, the shoreline winding across the landscape with its golden sand and turquoise water. It wasn't the exact shade as the ocean of her home, but it was close enough to work after years trapped inland at Winterfell High. Brienne had been an islander for most of her life, she'd always lived less than twenty minutes from the ocean, and the sight and sound of the crashing waves had comforted her through all the angst of her adolescent life. It had been her mother's favourite place, she felt closer to her there, less alone.

Brienne had gone there every day until the age of sixteen. That was when the Lannister Corporation decided her father's moving company was too much like competition for them. They had crushed him. Her fists tightened at her side with the memory, and the familiar wave of anger that accompanied it. They had to move to the mainland, farther up north than she'd ever been, to the cold town of Winterfell, just so he could work again. Brienne didn't begrudge her father for moving them. She wouldn't be where she was today if he hadn't. Still, on days like today, when she was staring out over the ocean, she still missed her old home.

The beach was practically empty, it being a Tuesday morning in off season. Brienne had taken her shoes off a little while back, enjoying the floating strains of Khaleesi's new album. The 'Silver Queen of Song and Screen' as she was known across the Narrow Sea, still hadn't quite made it across to the mainstream of the Westerosi music scene, but Brienne loved her music anyway. There was something about her haunting lyrics in Valyrian that transcended the language barrier. She was just replying to yet another text from Sansa, confirming that yes, she was still all right, and no, she hadn't been kidnapped by Dornish Pirates, when she noticed the driftwood shack ahead.

The delicious scent of food was unmistakable, and even from this distance she could see the neon-painted sign standing in front of it, covered in pictures of ice cream. She licked her lips unconsciously at the vibrant advertising. Checking her watch to make sure she still had a bit of time until she had to meet the girls for lunch, she threw caution to the wind and jogged towards the fast food vendor, proudly named, "Dornish Dave's Salty Snack Shack."

She sent a picture of the gorgeously photographed ice cream display to Sansa, as she waited patiently in the short line of hungry beach goers. Sansa rang her almost immediately.

"You'll ruin your appetite!" Came a tinny squeak from her phone.

"In our four years of friendship has that ever happened?" At six foot three, Brienne had a healthier appetite than most of her petite friends.

"Well, no, but now you've made me hungry!"

"No ice cream vendors in your lovely mall?" She laughed as the line moved forward.

"I'll have to find out. See you in an hour, yes? At the restaurant?"

"I'll be there, enjoy your ice cr– I mean, _morning_," Brienne joked.

"You too-" Her reply was cut off with a squeal of joy. Brienne realized she must have spotted something particularly sparkly.

Pocketing her phone she stepped forward to make her order only to find that the last customer hadn't moved on yet. Instead he had turned around to stare at her.

"Well I'll be damned, if it isn't my favourite wench."

Brienne felt a flush of scarlet cross her face as she recognized him. _Not again, _she cursed internally, _I was having such a nice morning._ "Oh. It's you." She couldn't have sounded less impressed if she'd tried.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine!" He was wearing sunglasses of the trendy wayfarer variety, and an obviously designer grey sweatshirt with the hood pulled up as if that might somehow disguise who he was. Her own wardrobe was less than comparable, denim cut offs frayed to a point past fashion and a slash-necked tee that had been through the wash one to many times. "I see you're just as friendly in the light of day, though not quite as tall. My neck isn't getting sore yet." He gave her a very deliberate once over, from her bare feet to her bed-hair, before shrugging and turning briefly away. "Make it two Salted Caramel Cones, Dave."

"Save it, Kingslayer. I'll get my own." She was glaring so hard she thought she might bust a blood vessel. There was nothing about the man that wasn't utterly unbearable.

"Don't be such a _drag." _He pretended to wince, "sorry, poor choice of words, wench."

Fighting the urge to growl she crossed her arms tightly across her chest and averted her gaze to the mountains in the distance. "Do you even know my name, idiot?"

"Of course I do! You're Brienne Tarth, Oathkeeper's guitarist." He clutched his heart as if she'd wounded him, before remembering their show introduction and quickly adding, "I'll have you know I requested your band's presence on this tour specifically."

"I don't believe a word of that," she scoffed, even as she started a little over the fact that he actually knew her name.

"Well, okay, maybe I didn't. But still, you're a good guitarist." She felt a strange flutter of pride at the compliment as he handed her one of the cones before she could protest. "And I'm a great guitarist. It makes sense that we share this delicious frozen treat together."

The flutter died.

"Are you trying to tell me you think you're a better guitar player than me?"

"No, no, of course not. Would I say a thing like that?" He started walking away from the shack in a way that meant she had to follow to hear the rest of his sentence. "I'm just saying NME might say that, in fact NME did say that when they named me number one on their list of the hundred greatest guitar players of all time last week. Don't take it personally."

She felt sure that the heat from her glare would melt her ice cream before she even had time to eat it. "You're intolerable," she muttered into the dessert in her hand.

"Thank you," he grinned at her, like it was a compliment. "You're ungainly and boring."

"Good bye." She walked away from him, determined to enjoy her morning off in peace. Taking another lick of the frozen treat before it could melt over her fingers. Dornish Dave wasn't lying, it was pretty salty.

"It's going to be a very long tour. We may as well get to know each other." She groaned out loud. Far from being put off, the annoying rock star had instead jogged up behind her. "Salty aren't they?"

"There is no earthly reason why we should have to get to know each other." She quickened her pace, exasperated at how easily he was matching her gait. Without the four inch heels he was only an inch shorter than her it seemed.

"I'm almost getting the impression you don't like me, wench." He smirked, the tips of his incisors just barely tugging his bottom lip in a way that had Brienne thinking about those romantic Vampire shows Sansa loved to watch. The ones that, okay, maybe she had enjoyed on occasion as well. _Still,_ she thought, _that's just typical. Bloodsucker_.

"Is it really that obvious?" She said stonily.

"What I can't figure out is why," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, nibbling on his ice cream in a calculatedly sinful way. "I can't remember _doing_ anything to you." He looked up at her from under his long lashes. "And I _would_ remember."

Brienne wished the ground would swallow her up. Her face glowing like a light bulb at his insinuation, she struggled for her moral high ground and planted her feet firmly. "Apart from insulting me, you mean?" She inhaled sharply, "You're just the narcissistic kind of prick I expected." She couldn't even meet his eye, muttering the end of her sentence to the ocean, "typical Lannister."

"Prejudiced against my family?" He considered it briefly, "Well you're hardly the first."

They walked in silence for a ways, preoccupied with Dornish Dave's finest. Jaime was seemingly lost in thought, even as Brienne twitched with acute awareness of him. She wished he'd just go away already, and leave her alone.

"You have a lot of freckles you know," he said out of nowhere.

She blinked in surprise. "Congratulations, Captain Obvious," she replied too quickly, as if it was the most natural comment in the world. As if she didn't care. She suddenly became overwhelmingly conscious of just how much freckled skin her cut-offs and t-shirt left exposed. _The t-shirt with the adorable jumping dolphins on it_. Margaery had bought it for her as a joke two Christmases ago, after she'd stumbled upon Brienne's 'collection.' Big, brawny girls like Brienne weren't supposed to collect ceramic dolphins, after all. They collected sports memorabilia, and scars. Not delicate china ornaments that looked like dolls toys in their hands. She hoped desperately that the Kingslayer hadn't noticed the logo. He didn't need any more ammunition against her.

Before he could say any more Brienne's phone was ringing in her pocket, making her stumble. _Margaery._

"We're bored and hungry. Can we bump lunch up to now?"

"Yes, yes, we can definitely bump lunch up. I'll be there in five." Brienne didn't even care that it wasn't quite midday yet, or that she'd only just finished her ice cream. Anything that would pull her out of this sure-fire winner for, "the most-awkward-situation-of-the-year" award, was a blessing.

"Are you alright, Bri? You sound strange?"

"I'm just dandy," she bit out, locating the exit to the beach in the distance.

"Okay then, see you soon."

Snapping the phone shut she got two steps before her shoulder was casually bumped.

"Lunch you say?" Brienne groaned aloud as she realized her tag-along still hadn't taken the hint. Jaime quickly threw the last bite of his ice cream over his shoulder as if he hadn't just been eating and fixed her with his most winning smile, his green eyes skirting the line between puppy-dog pleading and iron-willed determination with skill. "I'm famished."

"That was weird," Margaery said, snapping her phone shut and linking arms with her bestie.

"Hmm?" Sansa replied, lost in her own world.

"Brienne, she sounded strange. We should hurry."

They made it to the restaurant in record time, snagging a booth by the window, whilst waiting for their errant friend. Sansa picked at the peeling laminate on the menu, not listening to Margaery's chatter, until her friend had to physically poke her. Her thoughts were half an hour in the past, focused on a very strange man as she toyed absently with a lock of ginger hair.

"Hmm?"

"I said, it's too bad Arya couldn't make it with her little friends. You're not still thinking about that thing earlier with-" She let her sentence drop as the bell rang and Brienne walked in. Followed closely by Kingslayer. "Is that…?"

"I think it is."

Brienne had a face like thunder, striding in front of the beaming star as if he wasn't there at all. "I tried to get rid of him," she grumbled quietly, as she dropped down opposite the two stunned girls, jerking a menu roughly from the holder and ignoring her follower completely when he slid easily into the booth beside her.

"Ladies," he greeted them, coolly.

"Uhm, hi, nice to meet you at last," Margaery shook his hand briefly, as did Sansa. Both were burning with curiosity about how their stubborn friend had ended up with the most famous man in Westeros following her around like a very handsome puppy dog.

"I know, hasn't it been just far too long? We should have met days ago." Jaime leant forward conspiratorially, smiling ear to ear, and making Brienne want to punch him even harder than she already did. "Brienne has been terribly naughty for not introducing us earlier. Trying to keep me all to herself, it seems."

By the time the food and drinks had been ordered and served, Brienne wanted to crawl under the table and die. Even if she doubted she'd fit. Sansa, however, was having a hard time concentrating after the initial shock of the situation had worn off. Margaery's voice dragged her out of her thoughts.

"We bumped into one of your backing band earlier," she said sipping on her milkshake. "Well, Sansa did. The big guy, with the," she gestured vaguely, "face."

Sansa was shaken at the memory. They had been in the high street, too involved in their conversation about Dorne's current fashion trends, she hadn't seen him until it was too late. She managed to walk straight into six foot six inches of pure muscle. She'd tripped over her apology, trying to maintain eye contact, whilst not seeming to be staring. He'd just looked at her, with those coal-black eyes that she couldn't read, before nodding stiffly and walking on. It had been rude, not acknowledging her apology like that. She wondered if that was why she couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Not the friendliest of gents," Margaery laughed. Not noticing her friend's disquiet.

"That sounds like the Hound to me. He's a big, ugly, brute of a man, that one." The Kingslayer twisted his face in mock disgust. "And with such a ridiculous name."

"This, coming from the man who calls himself 'Kingslayer'," Brienne muttered, interjecting in the conversation of her own free will for the first time.

"Oh, it speaks!" He hit Brienne with his power-house smile, 500-watts and counting. "It has a nice ring to it, 'Kingslayer'. Sounds like a badass name if you ask me."

"Well, 'Jaime Lannister' does sound like you should be the sixth member of One Direction," she mocked, flicking her empty ketchup packet idly across the table.

Just for the barest fraction of a second, something close to surprise flickered over his face before it disappeared again. "Are you telling me you're a fan of On-"

Sansa watched as Margaery cut off the bickering pair, "you were telling us about this 'Hound'," she said eagerly, setting them back on track. Margaery was clearly thirsting for gossip about the unusual man and his unusual face.

"Well," Jaime switched his attention smoothly back to the table at large, "I only know what I've heard from Tyrion, but since he knows everything I assume it's is true. You may not have heard of the Hound before, but I'm sure you're heard of his older brother. Gregor. Clegane."

Sansa gasped aloud, covering her mouth with her hand in shock. "Didn't he try and kill his manager?"

"That's the one, nasty temper on old Gregor. The Hound, back when he was still known as Sandor, grew up with his bad tempered brother. The rumour is, that when they were nine and fourteen respectively, Gregor, annoyed at their father's instance he let his younger brother hang out with him, decided to play a cruel joke on his brother." Jaime had his audience's rapt attention, even Brienne was side eyeing him from her seat. "He told Sandor that he could join his little gang, _if _he could pass the initiation test. If he could last an hours torture, without screaming. Like most younger brothers, wanting to fit in, the Hound accepted. Now, I can only assume the boys thought of ways to hurt him in the way only teenage boys can. Hits, cuts, jabs, but he didn't say a word. With the hour nearly up, and Sandor dangerously close to passing their test, Gregor snapped. In front of that gang he took out his lighter, and set his little brothers hair on fire. That made him scream. By the time they'd put it out, it was too late, half his face had melted. The story was hushed up by their father afterwards, of course."

Jaime leant back, throwing an arm around the back of the booth (and by proximity Brienne). Margaery didn't miss the glare her friend shot at him, edging instantly away. The whole time they'd sat together they'd been unconsciously reacting to each other, pushing the limited personal space the booth allowed back and forth, like a dance. Margaery doubted they were even aware of it most of the time.

Sansa didn't notice it at all, she felt like crying, tears prickling behind her green-blue eyes. No wonder the Hound was so strange. She couldn't imagine any of her multitude of brothers, ever doing anything like that. They wouldn't even think of it. He must have had the world stare at him every day since. It was unbearable.

"This is all strictly hush-hush though ladies; the Hound isn't the friendliest of guys. I don't know how he'd react if he found out people were bringing up that story again. I don't even know how Tyrion found out about it."

They murmured their ascent, the mood somewhat subdued from the stories tragic conclusion. Out of nowhere, Rihanna's 'S&M' started playing, causing everyone at the table to jump. With a wry smile Jaime pulled his phone from his pocket.

"Speak of the devil," he answered the call with a sigh. "Yes? Yes. No. I know. Calm down Tyr- alright then, see you soon." Standing up he pulled a small stack of notes from his wallet. "Looks like my time is up," he said, throwing more than enough money on the table to pay for everyone's lunch. "We should do this again some time."

He was half way out of the door before turning suddenly, as if he'd forgotten something. "Nice shirt by the way wench, love the dolphins." The door swung shut just in time to deflect the handful of condiments Brienne had thrown at his head.

"I'm going to kill him."

Margaery choked on a laugh, "that's one way of putting it."

Brienne looked at her friend sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'll tell you when you're older."

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((Thanks again to all the reviewers - every comment is like a shot of caffine to my writing muse! It's making me write so much faster than I would normally so thank you :D  
All reviewers for this chapter will be sent a download of Kingslayer's next single, offer valid to current residents of Westeros only, time limit may apply. ))


	5. Chapter 5: Off Set

((Hello again! Thank you beautiful reviewers and followers! Extra special thanks with frosting and a cherry to the fabulous IdesofApril and her magical editing skills 3 Just a quick note before we start, I deliberately used the word 'sir' instead of 'ser' at some point in this chapter - I figure 'Ser' is y'know a proper title and 'Sir' is just a thing you say to guys if you're being formal so yes, that is intentional! I think that's about it :D I hope you enjoy 3 ))

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Night was falling, the air heavy with static and the promise of a thunder. It seemed like the Storm Lands weren't named so without good reason. They'd crossed the border from Dorne two nights earlier, and were still a day's travel from their next venue in Black Haven. The Oathkeeper tour bus pulled into a service station, allowing its cramped inhabitants to stretch their legs for a little while whilst their manager tried to get some semblance of signal in the mountainous region to make her daily calls.

"Its three weeks today since we started isn't it?" Sansa asked, swinging a plastic carrier bag from the shop at her side, "gods, it feels like forever."

"But also, somehow, like no time at all," Margaery added pensively as they climbed the stairs back into their make-shift home. "You know?"

"I know exactly what you mean," Sansa sighed, heading towards the back of the bus, where Arya was currently setting up the Playstation to try and beat Brienne at some fighting game they were both addicted too. "We bought snacks."

Arya's head spun around fast enough to give her whiplash, "Twizzlers?"

"Yes, sis, there are Twizzlers." She dropped the bag on the small coffee table just in time to watch her sister pounce on it. "You are a disgusting animal, but I love you anyway."

"Thanks," Arya replied, as she attacked the package with her teeth. "You're my favourite sister."

Sansa didn't point out the obvious, that she was her only sister. Instead she turned to her other friends. "So, Brienne, get any more texts from your _boyfriend_ today?"

"I made a solemn vow that the next person to make that joke would be carried out of this bus in a body bag," she replied with an icy calm. "Do you want to rethink your question, Sansa?"

No one on the bus quite knew how, but yesterday Brienne had started receiving an awful lot of texts from a certain Lannister she definitely hadn't given her number too. "Sorry, Bri," she said with mock contrition, lightly teasing the girl with her tone. "But he does seem to be getting awfully friendly. First he followed you to lunch, and paid. Then he starts showing up randomly, _all the time_. And now this, texting you around the clock even though you _never _respond and didn't give him your number. I think you have a fan."

"He's just trying to get a reaction. He's not used to people not falling all over themselves to be his friend." Brienne said firmly, "It's a novelty, and he _will_ get bored of it."

Despite Brienne's attitude Sansa felt a twinge of sadness at her friend's words. It sounded bitterly as if she was speaking from experience, and Sansa knew she deserved better than that.

"I think he's being genuine," she said, determined to see the best in everyone. "You're a good person to know."

Oddly touched by her friend's declaration, Brienne gave her a small smile. "You live another day, Stark."

Seconds later the bus door slammed, the vehicle rumbling into life underneath them, and Catelyn appeared at the partition. Her phone was clasped in her trembling hand and all the colour had drained from her face. "I've just spoken to your father," her fist tightened convulsively around the cell phone as she spoke. "Bran's had an accident at school. He's in the hospital." Both her daughters leapt to their feet, faces etched with worry, they swayed sharply as the bus navigated a tight corner.

"Is it serious?"

"What happened?"

They spoke over each other in their haste, but Catelyn silenced them with a hand.

"He was climbing a tree and fell. He's broken both his legs, and _might_ have some spinal complications. The doctors don't know how bad the damage is, but Bran is conscious and out of the IC, so that is a good sign." Her voice caught ever so slightly, but she rallied, determined to be strong for her daughters. "I'm flying back to Winterfell tomorrow from Black Haven, to check up on him."

"I'll come wi-" Both her daughters started again, their wildly different personalities working on the same track for once.

"No. You'll both stay here and continue with the tour you've committed too. Bran isn't in critical condition, and you made a promise. If anything changes for the worse, which I _highly_ doubt, I will contact you straight away and you can fly out. Otherwise you must stick by your word." She stood resolutely in the doorway, her tone final.

Sansa was on the verge of tears and Arya's eyes were wider than saucers in her pallid face. Catelyn opened her arms and both of her daughters rushed to her. "My girls," she said, and held them tightly before raising her eyes to the other two members of Oathkeeper who were hovering behind the grief-stricken family anxiously. Both of them had known Bran for years, compassion for their friends and surrogate mother filled them to the brim. "All of my girls." Catelyn finished, gesturing to the worried young women and including them in her embrace.

No one slept properly that night. The bunks seemed smaller somehow, and every bump in road was bigger. They dropped Catelyn off at the airport mid-afternoon, on the way to the hotel they'd be staying in for the next few nights. Margaery and Sansa had been booked to film a live interview with a popular fashion-based talk show that evening, since they weren't scheduled to perform. Brienne quickly offered to take her friends place, despite her lack of knowledge of or interest in clothing. She would have done just about anything to make the Stark girls' lives easier that day.

Arya hung around the hotel room with Sansa for an hour after their friends had left, neither girl knowing quite what to do while they waited for a phone call that wouldn't be made for hours. Eventually, after offering to stay with her sister a few dozen times and getting rebuffed, Arya ventured off to find her own friends. She hoped a couple of hours of mindless tech-talk might take her mind off the situation.

Sansa was alone, staring at the walls as the TV played on unheeded in the background, her mind working over everything her mother had said earlier. She was thinking about her little brother in that big white hospital and hoping he wasn't as alone as she was. After another hour had passed in silence, she drew herself to her feet, throwing the remote on the bed she abandoned in search of something to drink. Remembering the vending machine they'd passed by the elevators earlier in the day, she headed out of her room. Any distraction would help to clear her mind.

Sansa found the machine easily. It sat next to the ice-machine in the small lobby on their floor. The space was roughly square, with two sofas set underneath a mirrored wall. A few lushly green potted plants edged the walls and thankfully there were no people whatsoever. She knew how she must look, all red eyes and messy hair. She didn't feel like pretending everything was okay. Taking her time she weighed up the pros and cons of the vending machine's sparkling beverages mindlessly, before settling on a diet coke and pumping her change into the machine. It whirred to life, pushing the bottle forward but catching it at the last second before it fell.

"Perfect," she muttered, drawing a sharp breath through her teeth and whacking the machine with her tiny fist. Nothing. Feeling an uncharacteristic surge of anger rush through her, she pummelled it again. Nothing. Narrowing her eyes at the offending piece of technology, she pulled up the hem of the maxi skirt she'd chosen at random from her suitcase that morning, and prepared to kick the living hell out of the machine.

She drew her foot back but stumbled as a shadow fell across her and someone pounded the machine for her, hard enough to make the potted plant next to it shake and the bottle to drop like a stone. Sansa let out a short scream of surprise, tripping over herself as she whirled around. It was that man again. _The Hound_. That was what the Kingslayer had called him at the diner, the Hound.

Sandor Clegane.

"Do you get a kick out of scaring people?" She asked, with a voice that sounded too-loud to her own ears, as she glared at the man. For a moment she was too angry to worry about the social faux-pas of staring at his scars. He shrugged silently, his black gaze shuttered and unreadable. He was so very tall, Sansa was used to tall people, she herself was five foot nine in flats, but he seemed gigantic to her. Broad and silent in a beaten leather jacket, the ends of his too-long chestnut hair curling over his shoulders. They stood there for a minute in tense silence before Sansa realized she was staring and fumbled to get her coke from the machine.

"Thank you sir," She said with a cold primness, careful not to meet his gaze. They hadn't been introduced properly after all. "For your help."

He laughed. It was a harsh, ragged sound, and the very last thing she'd been expecting. She jumped, going to glare at him again, only to flick her eyes away just as fast.

"I'm no _sir, _girl. All I did was hit the bloody machine."

"My name is Sansa," she intoned to the floor, disliking the sensation of being laughed at by such a man. "And I don't appreciate-"

"Can't even look at me, can you, _girl_?" He mocked her, crossing his arms and daring her to make eye contact. "You'll see uglier things than me in this business, better get used to it."

Sansa bristled, wondering why the overbearingly rude man had bothered to help her in the first place. She met his eye defiantly, taking in the full horror of the lines of burnt flesh that dripped down his face like melted wax. They were faded red and pink, against his weather beaten skin. It was hideous, but she didn't back down. Eventually he nodded, almost approvingly.

"You might stand a chance," he conceded, letting her drop his gaze. "You're the little bird singing for the _Kingslayer_'s support."

She felt unsettled from staring at him so boldly, but still heard the distaste he put into the other man's name. "I'm the lead singer of Oathkeeper, yes. _Sann-sah." _she reminded him firmly, dragging her name out. "You drum for him, don't you? The Kingslayer, I mean."

Another non-committal nod, she looked at him expectantly as he paused. He gave first. "The Hound, s'what they call me." It was the closest to uncomfortable that she'd heard him sound. She felt a small thrill of elation at that.

"Hound." She acknowledged him normally, as if his name had been Bob or Dave. The short silence afterwards was cut through by the loud sound of Sansa's stomach grumbling. She flushed light pink as she remembered she hadn't eaten properly since the day before.

"You've not eaten." It was a statement, not a question. Sansa nodded. "For the same reason you've been crying." She opened her mouth to deny it, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand. "No use trying to hide it girl, you're not any good at it."

Sansa snapped her mouth closed. "I had some bad news in my personal life yesterday," she said at last, as if she were tactfully skirting around a reporter's question. He just shrugged as if the reason was unimportant, jabbing the call button on the elevator behind him and gesturing for her to go through when it opened.

"Come on, then."

"Where are we going?" She asked wonderingly, even as she stepped through the doors. She wasn't sure why she was doing this, maybe because they'd been talking for five minutes and she hadn't wanted to start crying once. Or maybe it was because she was naturally curious about the brutish man who'd beaten up a vending machine for her. Whatever the reason, she'd decided that slightly scared and angry, was better than very sad and alone.

"'The fuck do you think?" He grumbled, stepping in after her and pushing the button for the lobby, "to eat something."

Brienne stepped off the set of 'Storm Style TV,' feeling like she'd just stepped off of a battle field. She was sure she must look as torn and tattered as she felt, her spirit limping along with the rest of her as she left the station with her breezily beautiful friend.

"I know what hell feels like," she muttered darkly as they got into the awaiting car. Margaery pulled out one of the gossip magazines that had been put in there for their enjoyment.

"It wasn't that bad," she consoled as Brienne as she flicked through the glossy pages.

"No, it was worse." Brienne slumped back in the leather seat, covering her eyes with her hand as her memory bombarded her with flash backs to the disastrous interview.

It had started the moment they'd entered the building. The styling department expected a willowy red head and were instantly horrified at the appearance of bulky, blonde Brienne. She'd suffered through their muttered comments to each other, the endless parade of too-tight outfits and cramped shoes, until they settled themselves on an ugly potato-sack of a dress that would have looked modelesque on someone svelter and a foot shorter. On Brienne it only succeeded in making her look ridiculous. The straps strained across her wide shoulders, even as the hem crawled up her legs. The colour was some hideous shade of beige that made her look completely washed out, each freckle popping like an ink stain against her skin. To add insult to injury, it itched as well.

Then there was the interview. Fifteen minutes of live-recorded agony. She'd towered over the perfect little hosts, shaking their hands with her sweaty palms before trying to make herself look as small as possible on the fashionably squiggly and utterly impractical couch. After a few minutes of clumsy answers, that clearly displayed her lack of knowledge when it came to designers and styles (apparently _Hermes_ wasn't pronounced as it was spelt and neither was _Givenchy),_ the hosts took the hint and directed the rest of the interview to Margaery. To her credit, she'd fielded their questions like a pro, and made the rest of the time go as smoothly as possible while Brienne tried to seem inconspicuous and not make more of a fool of herself than she already had.

"Ooh, isn't this the Kingslayer's step-sister?" Margaery was waving her magazine at Brienne, who slowly uncovered her eyes to look.

"Huh?" She replied confused. Margaery's love of gossip eluded her as much as the bassist's love of fashion.

"Look, it is! 'Tempestuous Actress Cersei Hooks up with Renowned Thespian Robert Baratheon for a Steamy Summer Romance.'" Margaery held up the article, the shiny pages displaying a veritable goddess locked in an embrace with an overweight, older man.

"Are you sure she's his step-sister, they're not related?" Brienne snorted. Cersei had the same head of golden hair and easy, effortless beauty as Brienne's own personal pet peeve. _Such people shouldn't exist in the world_, she thought to herself. _They should be reserved for story books only._

"Ugh, I hope not," Margaery wrinkled her delicate little nose in disgust. "Not if the rumours of _their_ 'hook up' are true!"

"Ick," Brienne agreed, disregarding the magazine as her phone buzzed in her pocket. She drew it out lightning fast, wondering if Sansa or Arya had had news from home yet, but sighed in disappointment at the name on her screen.

"Who is 'This Asshole'?" Margaery asked confused, tilting her head to get a better look at the tiny display. "Ooooh! It's the Kingslayer again, isn't it?"

"What gave it away?" Brienne mumbled, putting her phone down without looking at the text and causing Margaery to shriek loud enough to burst her ear drum. "Gods woman, ow!"

"Aren't you at least going to look at it?" She asked, reaching over to snatch the phone from the irritated guitarist.

"Why would I do that?" Brienne replied, holding her phone easily out of her friend's reach.

"Plain, old, human curiosity?" Margaery struggled briefly for the mobile before falling back into her seat with a sigh. "You must be a little bit curious, surely?"

Brienne sighed and flicked open her phone.

"_Saw-r you on tv, hate ty-hat dres,_" she read the jumbled text aloud, squinting at the words. "Which, I think, means:_ Saw you on TV, hate that dress_. Typical."

"You should totally reply!" Margaery practically squealed, before giving her a sheepish look and lowering her tone. "I mean, if you want to. It would be nice to think about something not depressing for a while."

Brienne sighed and shot back a short message. "_You- can't- spell- for shit- Kingslayer_," she bit out in time with her texting. "That better?"

Margaery didn't have time to reply before Brienne's phone buzzed again. "'_Hey,_" she read aloud again, "_thas discr-mn-tion I'm_-oh god, I can't even read this, hang on." She stared intently at the display for a few moments. "Okay I think I've got it: _Hey, that's discrimination, I'm dyslexic you evil wench. Text quieter or Tyrion will find me."_

"He's dyslexic? Who knew?" Margaery sounded surprised.

"I think the word he's looking for is drunk. Why would he be hiding from his brother?" She frowned and texted back quickly, _'Where are you?'_

Buzz.

'_Com'n fund me, itll b fnu.'_

_ 'Where are you, idiot?'_

_ 'Somplac wi beer yeeeeah.'_

"I think he's in a bar or something," she finally said, startling her friend who had been watching the silent exchange with fascination. "He sounds really drunk. Maybe we should call Tyrion?"

Margaery detected a faint hint of concern in her friend's voice, but wisely said nothing. "I don't have his number, do you?"

She shook her head. "No, but this idiot is going to get himself into serious trouble if he's this drunk in public." Brienne hunched lower in her seat and frowned as she punched the buttons on the tiny keyboard.

'_Where are you, Jaime. Just tell me.'_

_ 'Wil u com n meet me id I do?'_

She paused, an odd sense of worry battling with her indifference. He was a selfish prick, but she convinced herself that she would do the same for anyone she knew in this situation. It was the honourable thing to do, after all.

'_Yes.' _She typed surely.

_ 'Th ballroom'_

"He says he's in 'The Ballroom'." Brienne frowned "Ever heard of it?"

"No. It could be a bar, or a club maybe? The hotel might have a ballroom or something? The old ones sometimes do."

With a sigh Brienne leant over the open partition to the front of the car and quietly got the driver's attention, "excuse me, but have you ever heard of 'The Ballroom'?"

"Sorry, love, no place called that around here," he replied puzzled.

"Thanks, anyway." She sank back into her seat and exchanged a tired look with Margaery "Guess I'll have to try the hotel then."

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((THAT'S RIGHT I ENDED IT THERE! *insert evil laughter* Eek sorry! As my way of apologizing all reviewers for this chapter will receive a free night's stay at the Lightening Lux Hotel in Black Haven, travel not included.))


	6. Chapter 6: The Ballroom

((Oh hi there, fancy seeing you here again. I bring you, as promised, part two of the great Drunk!Jaime saga! I hope you enjoy it my darlings - you're reviews just about killed me with joy. Massive thankyous to IdesofApril for Beta'ing, and for introducing me properly to the idea of Smores. (Not that that's in the fic, I've just always been curious about them!) Any quality to this story and my expanding waistline can both be directly traced back to her! :D NOW! On with the show...))

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A heavy leather jacket was thrown roughly into Sansa's arms. She looked up in surprise. They were two feet from the gilded doors of the hotel, and despite the constant threat of rain it wasn't exactly likely to be cold outside.

"What's this for?"

"Paparazzi's outside," her unlikely companion grunted, "put the hood up."

She complied, bemused at the odd concern. It was a dozen sizes too large for her, but she didn't care. Tucking her flame-kissed hair under the hood, she realized it was still warm and smelt faintly of cigarettes. Not unpleasantly though. "I don't think I'll ever be used to the press," she admitted lightly. Oathkeeper hadn't warranted that much attention after the first album dropped. When they'd been out promoting there'd been cameras, but no one had ever stalked them home before. This tour was proving to be an eye opening experience. She got a short noise of agreement in reply, "Not big on conversation, huh?"

"Don't have much to say."

"Right, then." She said aloud to the expressionless man beside her, before adding to herself, _Well, this is going to be an interesting meal_.

Bustling past the waiting paparazzi without incident, Sandor led them towards a brightly lit café. It was a greasy, anonymous, place with florescent lights that made his scars look livid and alive. Sansa sat carefully on the orange bucket seat, forgetting her anxiety at the smell of hot, fatty fried food. Cracking open the menu she ordered the first thing she saw. The waitress was sent running from the table like it was on fire after one look from Sansa's perpetually angry companion when she dared ask if he wanted anything as well.

"Have you been here before?" She asked at last, the clicking of the ceiling fan in the silence becoming unbearable. "Black Haven, I mean."

"No," he replied shortly, Sansa had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at him. He just sat there sullenly, looking at her with that inscrutable gaze. She wondered if he were mocking her somehow.

"Where are you from?" She tried again, tearing tiny squares off her paper napkin almost unconsciously, and wishing the food would hurry up.

"Here and there."

The ceiling fan clicked on.

Sansa slouched down in her chair. _W__hy did he invite me here in the first place if he didn't want to talk to me?_ She thought as she stared into space, _the conversation would have been just as exciting alone._

At last the waitress reappeared, dropping a plate on the table in front of her without making eye contact. "Thanks," Sansa muttered, spearing an unsuspecting fry on her fork. They sat that way, in silence, as she ate. She gave up worrying in favour wolfing down her meal and pretending not to notice him watching her as she did so. _N__o wonder they call him Hound, _she thought unkindly as she finished off the last of her hamburger._ He's like a great big guard dog._ _But... he did punch a vending machine for me._

"You know you're not as scary as you think you are," Sansa said at last, pushing the plate away. She'd been made brave by her full stomach, determined to wring some conversation out of the frustrating man. The Hound leant forward across the table, muscles straining in his forearms as he lowered his voice to a growl.

"I know. _I'm scarier_."

Her heart stopped for a moment, eyes widening in shock before realizing with a start that he was joking.

"Oh," she spluttered, fighting the losing battle against her laughter. "Oh, sure."

He smiled.

It was an unfamiliar expression that she found she rather liked. Even without the scars, she doubted he would've been movie star handsome. He was certainly no Jaime Lannister, but there was something pleasant about his mouth when he smiled. It made him look less terrifying.

"Oh. My. Gosh. You have a sense of humour! Stop it, please. I might have a heart attack!" She grabbed her heart in mock surprise causing another wry smile from the bear of a man across the table.

"S'why I don't say much," he rumbled, lowering his head a little so as to close the height gap. "Couldn't be responsible f'r killing you, little bird. You're fans would fucking destroy me."

"Oh, I don't know about that, we don't have that big a fan-base yet." She fluttered a hand at the compliment, roses blooming in her cheeks. "But y'know, you should really-" She was cut off mid-sentence by the opening notes of 'Maiden's Fall' coming from her bag. Scrambling for her phone, she forgot what she was saying completely as the memories from earlier flooded her mind.

Bran. Hospital.

She answered the call without even looking at the name.

"Sansa?"

"Dad?" Her voice cracked at the familiar, comforting voice coming from hundreds of miles away.

"Y'mother's here, but she's with Bran at the minute, so I thought I'd call you instead. The doctors say he's doing well, sweetheart. No need to fret." She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, realizing just how much she missed home.

Sandor stood up with the bill, crossing to the counter to pay and giving the girl some space. Glaring automatically at the waitress as he waited for his change, he tried not to eavesdrop on the little bird's phone conversation. He'd spent most of the meal wondering what the fuck he was thinking when he'd invited, well demanded, her to follow him. Sansa Stark looked like she'd stepped out of a fairy story, even with her red eyes and unkempt hair. She was still the most graceful, beautiful thing he'd ever seen. What could he possibly have to say to interest a girl like that? Stories of bar fights and drinking himself to sleep in shitty hostels were not fit for her ears. _He_ wasn't fit for her. He shook his head almost sadly to himself as he pocketed the change and glanced over at her. _Still_, he thought to himself, _I'd do just about anything to hear her laugh like that again_.

When he returned she was standing, brushing at the sleeve of his jacket where she'd spilt some ketchup, the phone now safely back in her pocket. Noticing his gaze she turned her smile back on, even though she must have known he could see the cracks in it. She straightened, tucking her hair under the jacket's hood again, and followed him out.

"Everything... okay?" He asked clumsily as he held the door open for her to leave, angry at himself for turning into such a buggering idiot after less than an hour in her company.

Sansa nodded. "They say he's getting better," she said, not realizing Sandor would have no idea who she was talking about. "They don't know if he'll be able to walk again or not though, they're waiting on an," she stuttered and stopped for a beat before pushing on. "On an operation."

Hearing the falter in her voice almost made his under-used heart break. Thinking she was probably talking about some fairy tale prince of a boyfriend to match her beauty back home, he didn't know if there was anything he could say that wouldn't sound utterly fucking pointless. So he settled for placing one hesitant hand on her tiny shoulder. The movement was uncoordinated, designed to be pulled back right away, only he felt her little hand cover his. Ivory fingers, half the size of his, squeezed his hand briefly before she pulled away. When she let go she put her hands in her pockets and stared down at the cracks in the side walk.

"He's just so young, y'know?" She murmured to the floor, "I mean Rickon's technically the baby of the family, but Bran's still only sixteen. What if the operation doesn't work? What if..." She trailed off, as if she were thinking she'd said too much. Sandor dampened down the guilty thrill of relief that had shot through him when he'd realized she was talking about a brother, and not a boyfriend. Instead he cast about for something to say to her that would matter, something that might comfort her. She was looking up at him with those ocean coloured eyes and he tried, dredging up a part of his past that he'd rather forget as he did so.

"I," Sandor cleared his throat and started again, "you'd be surprised how much boys that age, and younger, can take. They can survive a lot." Sansa looked at him like she was seeing his soul and smiled again, a real smile this time. It warmed places in him that had been cold for years.

"Thank you."

He knew she didn't just mean the food. He also knew he'd punch more than a vending machine to keep her happy.

Throwing the heavy oak doors open, their ornate brass handles shaped like lightning bolts, Brienne felt, rather than heard, them rebound sharply off the delicate cream plaster.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Brienne had followed the instructions the helpful receptionist had given her to the letter. Following the path through the twisty mess of corridors of the Lightning Lux Hotel to find herself in its cavernous empty ballroom. The room was gigantic, rows of tables and chairs were stacked on either side of the polished wooden floor, and in the corner a stage was set up with a grand piano and space for a small band. A series of dissonant notes filled the air as a very drunken Jaime Lannister leapt wobbily to his feet behind the piano, throwing his arms wide.

"_Wench_!" He half shouted and half slurred, the bottle fixed in one hand sloshing wildly. "You found Waldo!" He descended into giggles as Brienne marched across the floor, hand itching to give the drunk a good slap. "What are you playing at, man?" She practically growled at him.

He waved enthusiastically at the stage behind him, "m'playing the piano. Well, I was 'til someone so rudely interrupted." He narrowed his eyes at her playfully before his face split into a grin again. "I can't stay mad at you. C'mere, let's hug it out."

He reached wildly for her as she crossed the space between them, misjudging his swing and cracking his hand painfully off the piano. Wincing he shook it out and tried again.

"You lay one hand on me, Kingslayer, and I swear to the gods I'll rip it off." She circled him warily as he pouted at her. _Grown men should not pout, _she thought sternly, _and they certainly shouldn't look attractive doing it._

"C'mon, I'll play you a song! Any song you like." He fell back onto the piano bench, playing something that might have resembled a waltz if it hadn't been missing so many notes.

"No." She shot a glance around the back of the piano as she mounted the stage, there were more empty bottles than she'd been expecting on the floor around it, even if half of them were decidedly miniature. "Gods, did you drink the entire mini bar?"

"And more," he told her proudly, placing his hands on his hips in triumph. "But you found me, you win the prize. If you don't want a song, what do you want? You can have _anything_ you like." Brienne wiped a hand across her face in frustration at the less-than-subtle insinuation. "And I do mean _anything,_" he added, as if she'd somehow missed the double meaning of his words. He rose unsteadily and swayed, walking slowly towards her. She looked at him like the idiot he was.

"I want you," his smile began to widen but she cut off his train of thought bluntly, "to cut the shit and tell me why I've been lumbered with your drunken ass. Why didn't you text Tyrion, for gods sake?"

"You're so mean. Mean Brienne." He slumped down to sit on the edge of the stage, his once neat black button down now creased beyond saving. His mood changed like quick sand, one hand burying itself in his rumpled golden hair, the other still clenched tightly around his bottle. "No one understands." She half expected him to break out into a Linkin Park song from the sheer amount of Emo he was radiating.

Brienne sat carefully on the stage, a foot to the left of him. "And what, exactly, is it that no one understands?" She asked, feeling very much like a trainee school teacher left to deal with a particularly difficult child. Ignoring her personal space completely, Jaime immediately slid over to her and dropped his head on her shoulder, completely missing the look of mingled surprise and horror that arrested her features.

"What it's like."

"You're really not making much sense." She cleared her throat, utterly lost at the etiquette the situation called for. Pushing him away would be rude, but he was very drunk after all. His hair was ungodly soft against her neck, and she was finding it inconveniently distracting. "Focus please," she said more for herself than for him. "What happened? Start from the beginning."

"She's -" He hiccupped pathetically into the fabric of her off-brand blue sweater, "She's gone and- with that ugly old man!"

The uncomfortable truth about what was talking about dawned on her.

"Oh," she said stupidly. "You're..." _Ex-girlfriend? Step-sister? Ex-step-girl-sister-friend? _"You mean Cersei and that actor?" The name felt wrong in her mouth, unfamiliar. Still it was better than the other choices. He raised his head in confusion, fixing her with a steady green stare that was far too close for comfort.

"How d'you know about that?" His breath was warm and distinctly alcoholic. Brienne was suddenly glad there were no open flames nearby.

"It was in one of the Margaery's magazines." She shrugged, looking away from his accusing, and very close, eyes. The man had no concept of personal space.

Jaime laughed bitterly, turning his attention to the room in general. Tossing the bottle he'd been clutching away he watched as it rolled and clinked across the stage spilling beer as it went. It teetered on the edge of the dais but didn't fall. "I knew…I knew she didn't," he gritted his teeth, voice riding a fine line between acerbic determination and abject sadness, "_want_ me anymore." Brienne opened her mouth and closed it again unsure of what to say, but he kept speaking, "But him? _Robert-fucking-Baratheon_, that fat fuck? Man is an idiot."

Brienne sat there, close enough to feel his warmth and yet completely at a loss for what to do. She wasn't often called upon to hear the problems of drunken rock stars, it was honestly a first. He was freaking Brienne out and if he kept this up, she might have to stop seeing him as a two-dimensional pain in her ass and acknowledge he actually had feelings.

"She always was a bitch, Cersei was." He told her with a telling nod, "oh yeah. Mega bitch. But... she was _my_ bitch." His jaw clenched and unclenched before his expression softened. "You're nothing like her, y'know." his voice sounded distant as he really looked at her, "nothing at all."

Brienne edged further away; this wasn't annoying Jaime, or bitter Jaime. This was intense, staring right at her, Jaime, and she didn't know how to deal with _him_ at all. Part of her wanted to laugh, of course she was nothing like that pampered actress. Cersei Lannister was a golden haired goddess and Brienne was a monster who didn't belong in glossy magazines. She belonged under a bridge. "There-there, Kingslayer," she said brusquely at last, trying to inch out from under that piercing gaze. The words seemed to do the trick somehow. He barked a laugh, covering his face with his hands.

"And there's that bloody name again." He peeked through his fingers reproachfully at her, "I can't escape it."

Brienne squared her shoulders, she was trying to help him and he was laughing at her. "If you wanted people to call you Jaime, than you should have just gone with that in the first place." She glowered at him. _Ridiculous man._

"I didn't exactly have much choice in the matter!" His tone was rife with indignation before he switched to an impression of someone she didn't know. "'_You're not dragging our proud family name through the mud with your silly fantasies_._'_" He sighed, scooting closer to her again and dropping his head back on her shoulder. "I was seventeen, for gods sake."

Brienne was unmoving, she didn't even know if she could move had she wanted to, struggling to work out how she'd gotten herself into this situation in the first place. He was silent for a very long time, breathing slowing as he leant into her. She was just getting worried he'd fallen asleep and she'd have to carry him out of there, when he started speaking again, mumbling tiredly to himself. "It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't taken it all back later. _'Forget that silliness son, I'll help you out now you're getting more recognition.'_" He sighed again, "'_I purchased your little label. We'll be very successful together. Now if you could just start releasing more profitable songs.'_"

"Was that your father?" She asked at last, prompting him back from the edge of unconsciousness. The alcohol seemed to have burned his energy out, leaving him a dead weight against her side. She could almost feel his heartbeat, it unsettled her.

He nodded into her shoulder, "daddy dearest. Father of the year."

Brienne felt an overwhelming and utterly unexpected surge of sympathy for him. Her own father had always supported her and accepted her choices. He had never belittled her dreams, even when he warned her, gently, that life in the music industry didn't always work out. Brienne wasn't beautiful or rich, the world didn't chant her name or wait on her every word, but her father loved her. Her friends were a second family and she was pursuing her dream, with the support of them all. Jaime Lannister had everything and nothing it seemed.

With a sigh she slid her arm underneath the broad man's shoulders, focusing very hard on not noticing just how firm and toned they were. "Come on then, let's get you to bed."

"Best idea you've had all night, wench." He grinned, that familiar, annoying tone settling back into his voice as he let her haul him to his feet. He wrapped his arms around her as she herded them towards the door.

"Don't make me regret helping you, Kingslayer," she growled even as a perverse sense of relief came over her. Annoying prick Jaime, she could handle. There was a bank of elevators just outside the entrance to the ballroom, meant for staff. Brienne quickly hustled him inside, not wanting the lobby staff to see her hauling the drunken idiot around. The journey up was easy because most of the tour personnel were being housed on the top floor, that wasn't what Brienne was worried about. "What room are you in?" She demanded as the lift door opened, half dragging him into the hallway.

"Guess," he teased her, leaning in close. If she turned her head she could have counted his eyelashes. She stared straight ahead.

"Goddamnit, Jaime, just tell me." Her eyes flicked warily around the hall, the last thing she needed was to become the topic of conversation at breakfast tomorrow.

"Gods, Brienne, have some fun for once." His voice was a languorous dare, rubbing along her spine like velvet. She felt her face begin to glow again, frustration and confusion getting the better of her. Hauling him straighter on his feet roughly, she effectively dislodged the hand that had become fascinated with toying with her short hair. She didn't realize scalps could tingle.

"If you think this is my idea of fun, Kingslayer, you are sorely mistaken," she replied stiffly. Standing tall underneath his gaze and ignoring the lazy circles his fingertips were tracing on her shoulder blade. He didn't seem to be able to keep his hands to himself, despite her warnings.

"The penthouse," he sighed in defeat, "where else?"

Cursing at her own naivety, she helped him stumble down the hall way. Of course he was staying in the penthouse, if she wasn't so distracted she could have worked that out easily. Luckily she didn't have to suffer too many innuendos before he handed over the key card. Kicking open the door she swore out loud. "Fuck that…"

The room was ridiculous. At least five times the size of the room she was currently sharing with Arya. The bed was big enough to fit six or seven people comfortably, and there was a god damned lounge and kitchen leading off the open plan room.

"Living the high life baby," he grinned into her neck, lips brushing against the sensitive skin there and causing the hairs on the back of her arms to stand up. She practically shoved him towards the swimming-pool sized bed and away from her, watching him immediately slump over like a felled tree with a flicker of guilt at the rough movement. She nodded gruffly. That was her good deed done for the week. Turning to leave she was stopped by his hand, lightly catching her wrist as she moved away. Brienne looked down at him uncomfortably, his touch feather soft but firm. He was gazing at her with those broken bottle eyes, glazed from alcohol but strangely sincere.

"Thank you. For this... For listening."

She nodded again, unsure of what to say. "That's okay."

He gave her a thousand kilowatt smile that had her pulse racing again. She was sure he could feel it beating wildly inside her wrist. They looked at each other silently for a moment, some strange unspoken feeling going between them, as if for a moment they could see past each other's shells.

"The bed is pretty big y'know..."

He broke the silence, one eye brow raised in drunken insinuation. She snatched her arm from him and whirled on the spot. Of course he'd killed the moment. That's what he did. She was a fool to fall for it for even a split second. "Next time you decide to drunk text me, _Kingslayer, _don't."

"G'night, dancing wench!" He called happily after her as she slammed the door behind her. Brienne leant against it for a moment. _Typical arrogant prick, _she thought darkly glaring at a technical assistant who had happened to walk by, daring him to say anything. _Why did he have to act like an actual human being earlier?_

It would have been so much easier for Brienne if she could have just straight out hated him, but _that_ no longer seemed to be an option.

* * *

((Can I just get a cold towel please, the UST is killing me. As is Brienne's obtuseness. These two are going to be the death of me!  
Thank you so much again to the reviewers on last chapter, you're the only reason I'm writing this fast I swear.  
All reviewers for this chapter will receive a ticket for an audience seat during the filming of a popular Stormland's chat show, details to be confirmed at a later date, travel and accommodation not included. ))


	7. Chapter 7: On the Road

((*shy wave* I bring you this new chapter beautiful readers, I hope you enjoy it! I think all the best lines in this were pretty much provided by the fabulous Beta beauty IdesofApril! I have a lot to thank her for 3

Why can I never remember the rest of things I intended to say at the beginning of these notes? Uhm... oh well! Enjoy!))

* * *

The weekend passed and, despite her assurances that Bran was recovering just fine, Catelyn still hadn't returned. The next stop was two days away, a mid-week show in Storm's End with a brief pause in Mistwood so the Kingslayer could do some publicity.

Brienne found herself sighing as she shoved the last of her toiletries into her suitcase and zipped the lid, thinking about just how close they would be to her old home. The island of Tarth, once owned by one of her great-great-grand-relations a few hundred years earlier, would be lying in wait just across the narrow sapphire sea. She wondered if there would be time to visit it, probably not. In fact, there wasn't even time to think about it when she should already be on the bus. She swore aloud at the numbers glowing on the digital clock beside the hotel bed. Grabbing the handle of the case, she legged it out of the room and headed to the back of the hotel where the buses were waiting.

This was the first time Brienne had been late out of the hotel, normally it was Margaery and her very long daily beauty routine that held them up, or Arya forgetting she hadn't packed something at the last minute and running back inside. _This is all somehow __**his **__fault, _Brienne fumed as she ran, remembering the performance last night and the after party the Kingslayer had insisted they all attend afterwards. _Insufferable man. _Apparently getting embarrassingly drunk and falling all over her wasn't enough of a reason to avoid her. In fact, if anything, Jaime Lannister had become even more persistent and, despite his fame, he struck Brienne as being terribly lonely.

O_therwise, _she told herself firmly, _I wouldn't put up with him. I'm __**just**__ being nice. Well, nice enough. _

A small smile tugged at her lips at the memory of the karaoke set up in the Black Haven Super Stadium VIP area. Kingslayer's band and Oathkeeper, along with a handful of crew, had crowded into the velvet-plush room, knocking back drinks and taking turns on the ridiculous machine. Not one to be outdone, when Sansa and Margaery had brought the house down with their version of 'Poker Face,' Jaime had hopped up to the mike. He howled along to Bon Jovi, shaking his very tightly denim-clad hips with reckless abandon. He'd tried to convince her that it was a great idea to duet together, but Brienne had managed to wriggle out of it, uncomfortable with performing like that in front of so many people. Realizing she was smiling at the memory made her angry again when she skidded to a halt outside Oathkeeper's waiting bus. Pushing her suitcase in she apologized to Driver Nan and to Ros, who'd taken over Catelyn's managerial role with aplomb, as she did so.

The russet haired woman waved her way with a smile, "late night, sweetie?"

"Not intentionally," Brienne sighed. The hydraulics whooshed and the door shut behind her, the bus already pulling out as she wheeled her belongings down the centre aisle of the vehicle. She found it odd that she hadn't seen any of the girls yet. Normally one of them would have pounced on her for being late by then, Margaery probably, with some ridiculous theory as to why. Lately though, all of Margaery's energy seemed to go into coming up with ridiculous theories about the Kingslayer and why he appeared to pop up at every turn. Besides, of course, from the obvious fact that it was his tour they were on. Rolling the tension from her shoulders she followed the sounds of familiar laughter to the back of the bus. Maybe she'd give Arya a chance to beat her at Street Fighter today.

"What's so funny?" Her question trailed off as she took in the scene. Seated on the squishy leather seats of the bus's lounge were Margaery, Sansa, Arya, and _Jaime_. "For fucks sake."

"Hello there!" Jaime chirped good-naturedly, patting the empty spot beside him, "reconsidered our duet yet? Sansa tells me you guys have SingStar."

"Him, I expect this of," she addressed her band mates sternly, refusing to acknowledge the rockstar's existence. Giving them a look that wasn't so much angry as disappointed in them, "you should all know better. Shame on you, for enabling him." Sansa at least had the good grace to look contrite. Arya seemed to find the whole situation hilarious, and Margaery had a telling spark of mischief in her eyes. Turning on her heel, Brienne strode back to the kitchen. It was too early for this nonsense. Pulling a can of Sprite from the fridge she gave Ros a half-hearted glare.

"Thanks for warning me."

"Any time, sweetie. Can I make up for it now?"

"Huh?" Brienne looked up puzzled, "how?"

"He's behind you." Her red lips turned up in a smirk, fiery curls artfully quaffed despite the early hour. It was a rare occurrence that Ros wasn't found perfectly made up, no matter the situation.

Groaning aloud she didn't turn around, instead choosing to flop into the soft cream leather of the kitchenette booth. When he moved to squeeze in next to her she firmly pointed at the seat opposite. It was impressive considering she had her eyes shut. Even through her shut lids she could practically hear him grinning, cracking her eyes open at last to confirm her suspicion.

"Miss me?" He laughed, noticing he had her full attention and snagging the can from her hand, draining half of it. "You have a terrible taste in drinks, by the way."

"You drink Dr Pepper."

"And?"

"And it's a marzipan flavoured lie designed to trick-" Brienne stopped and sighed, rubbing her eyes. "And I am not getting into this with you again." Huffing, she snatched the remains of her drink back. They'd had the same argument at the bar last night. "Don't you have your own, much larger bus, filled with your own drinks and your own friends?"

"I much prefer yours," he laughed. "And Tyrion told me I should really talk to you about the show tonight."

Her head shot up, "show? What show tonight?"

"Exactly. Since your new song got to number two on the Storm Haven charts, congratulations by the way," he added benevolently, "although I'm still at number one, you got a last minute booking on _Late Night with Renly_. I'm already scheduled to appear, of course, so it made sense to share buses."

"Not really," she interjected darkly, her heart stuttering in her chest at the talk show host's name.

"Anyway," Jaime went on, ignoring her completely. "He said I should prep you about the show, in case you haven't seen it before."

"I have seen it actually," she replied shortly. "I know the format fine, your work is done."

"Really? I didn't think it ran up North, how come you're so familiar with it?"

She gritted her teeth. It did play in Winterfell, but only on cable. The fact of the matter was, she'd had a monster of a crush on Renly Baratheon, chat show god, since middle school on Tarth. While other girls where fantasizing about famous actors like Jaqen H'gar, or prize fighters like Khal Drogo, or yes, even rock stars like stupid, broken, Jaime Lannister, Brienne only had eyes for the witty, charming talk show host. With his curling brown hair and kind personality, he'd been her secret love for years. He hadn't come out as gay until the year she'd moved to Winterfell, it had crushed her. Logically, she knew that even if she met him he'd never be interested in a girl like her. Not compared the glamorous guests he surrounded himself with. Still, he was kind and generous and she had hoped. Now she'd be face-to-face with her teen idol, whilst sitting side by side with the most annoying man in Westeros. It made her want to crawl up into her bunk and refuse to come out.

"I grew up in the Stormlands." She told him tersely, nervous that she'd paused for a little too long before replying. He couldn't be trusted with the real content of her thoughts. "It was a very popular show."

"Bri-enne! I never knew that. Did you fancy him, then?"

"No!" She stuttered, too fast this time instead of too slow, her face betraying her by glowing crimson.

"Gods, you did, didn't you?" Jaime was staring at her incredulously over the table, leaning forward on his elbows eagerly, silently laughing at the blushing girl. "How about that. You aren't his type you know; I've been doing his show for years, trust me. He's tried to slip me the sausage on more than one occasion."

"Jaime!" She gasped in shock, "how can you be so-"

"Charming? Handsome? _Honest_? Even before he came out of the closet, his proclivities were the worst kept secret in show business."

"What does it matter?" She shrugged sullenly, sinking down in her chair and turning her head away from him.

"It doesn't," he replied with a sigh, she could feel his eyes on her even as she tried not to. "We can't choose who we love." Brienne couldn't help herself, she looked back. Meeting his cut-grass eyes properly she saw something unspoken there. Something sad, that looked like it might be painful if she touched it. She wondered if he was thinking about his step-sister.

"Are you two done fighting yet?" Margaery piped up from the other room, over a base line of shrieks and giggles. "Arya won't give up the controller to the TV, someone fed her after midnight and she's trying to take over the bus."

Brienne exhaled slowly, rising from her seat as Jaime did. The sadness was gone, tucked away beneath his easy smile as he gestured for her to walk ahead of him. "After you, milady," he offered gallantly, any serious undertone disappearing in the morning sunlight.

"Bite me, Kingslayer,_" _she grumbled unenthusiastically, and proceeded before him to sort out whatever power play the youngest Stark girl had decided to make.

"Don't give me ideas," he murmured, almost inaudibly, following closely behind her.

They stopped at midday at a service station, which became a fully operational covert mission since they had Jaime along. The place was surreptitiously swept by security, whilst the celebrities donned hoodies and sunglasses to disguise themselves. This left the group arguing over which fast food joint to patronize. Margaery followed Brienne into the ladies room, a raft of new gossip magazines clasped in her petite hands.

"You should just bang him already." Margaery was perched on the counter, watching the guitarist shrewdly as she exited a stall and began washing her hands. Brienne nearly fell into the mirror, splashing cold all water over the side.

"What?" She gaped at her pretty friend, doing her very best impression of a dying fish.

"Jaime Lannister. _The Kingslayer. _You should totally bang him." Seeing her friend's scandalized face, Margaery pursed her lips in thought. "Oh, _date_ him. I meant to say date him."

"But- we- Gods, Marge! We don't even like each other, not really. He makes me angrier than any other human being alive!" The idea of doing anything even vaguely romantic with that annoying, distracting, painfully good-looking jack-ass was unthinkable. Besides, he was creepily in love with his step-sister, and even if he wasn't, Brienne knew she was a clumsy beast of a woman. Certainly not pretty enough to tempt the most famous musician in Westeros. Not that she'd ever want to, of course.

"That's not what the journalists seem to think," Margaery waved the magazine she'd been holding at Brienne. The taller woman snatched it from her hands. On the cover was a glossy picture of Jaime at some press function. _Typical, _she thought, _the bastard probably didn't even need retouching. _The by-line next to it caught her eye.

"Hunky Kingslayer Spotted with Unexpected New Squeeze,"she read aloud with disgust before tearing through the magazine to the given page number. There was another full page photo dedicated to his glory, and a smaller inset photo pasted in the corner…of her. It took Brienne a moment to recognize herself. It was obviously one of the publicity shots that had been taken during their first show. She supposed she should have been grateful that they'd used one of her better pictures. Still, when pasted beside the model looks of Jaime Lannister, even the best photo of Brienne looked like something she'd untag immediately on Facebook. Anger growing, she recited the short article to her band mate. "Oathkeeper member Brienne Tarsh_," _she gritted her teeth at the typo but continued anyway, "was spotted leaving the Kingslayer's Penthouse suite late Thursday night in BlackHaven, our sources say. The six-foot-five amazon was said to have looked 'flustered,' with our trusted source adding, 'this isn't the first time they've been seen together, everyone on the tour has been talking about their new relationship.' Ladies take note, it seems the Kingslayer likes them tall, the bigger the better."

Brienne felt herself reddening from embarrassment as she flicked through the rest of the section, eventually throwing the magazine down with disgust. "These idiots clearly have nothing better to do than invent stories where there are none. If they can't even be bothered to get my name right, I doubt they'd fact check anything else their _sources_ tell them. And I'm clearly not six-foot-five."

_I am six-foot-three, thank you very much._

But that was hardly the point.

"Right, because there is absolutely no unresolved sexual tension between you and Jaime," Margaery agreed sarcastically.

"Exactly," she replied, missing Margaery's implication at first. Wiping her cold hands over her face in the vague hopes it might dispel some of the redness, Brienne's head shot up when she finally caught Margaery's meaning. "Wait, what are you saying? You _know _I was just helping him because he was drunk."

The brunette smiled at her tall friend knowingly, "you two have more chemistry than a high school science class, Brienne. Bang him, you'll both feel better." Turning on her heel Brienne stalked away from Margaery, squaring her shoulders before she re-joined the group outside. "Date!" Her friend hollered helpfully after her, "I meant _date_ him!"

"Did you get lost?" Jaime turned as she approached the group, waiting in the middle of the service station's meagre food court. It seemed like this had been a scheduled meeting spot for the whole tour staff, the place was packed with the familiar faces of musicians and crew alike. The stars of the show had been given a little room however, with a handful of specialized security staff loitering nearby.

"Shut up," Brienne snapped at him, still angry over the magazine article she'd been presented with. Her identity and accomplishments had become meaningless to the magazine, being forgotten in favour of her status as the Kingslayer's potential _'new squeeze'_.

"We decided on McDonalds," Sansa interjected happily. "Well, Arya decided, but it seemed as good an idea as any." Brienne shrugged and headed towards the queue before Jaime stopped her by flinging an arm out to bar her passage.

"Woah, there little lady," he smirked. "Where do you think you're going? You're famous now. Pod?" He summoned an anxious PA, who seemed far too young to be doing the job, with one crooked finger. The young man came forward quickly, abandoned his food in the process. "What are we having then gang?"

"Seriously? You think you're too important to get your own damn take-out?" Brienne gritted her teeth. The frustration she'd felt from reading the article, still not dissipated, and her nervousness at tonight's interview, combined and turned into anger at the casually demanding man in front of her. "You need to order someone else to do it for you when the counter is literally three feet from you?" Sneering at him she pushed his arm from out of her way and stalked over the counter, followed by the awkwardly shrugging members of Oathkeeper. who knew well the code of 'sisters before misters'. The ordering station was already stocked with caterers and backing band members waiting for their meals. Brienne didn't even glance as them as it was their turn to order, entirely missing the odd little smile Sansa shot at the large man across from them.

Jaime was at a loss at their sudden departure, people always got him what he wanted. They were personal assistants, they assisted him, _personally_. He shrugged at the rotund man who was still standing awkwardly next to him. "Women, huh?"

"I... uhm... yes, sir," Podrick mumbled unintelligibly, turning bright red in the process.

"I tell you, the lot of them are-" He was cut off from a stern voice coming from the region of his hip.

"Brother, are you bullying my assistant again?"

"Me? Never." Jaime looked around and down automatically, offering a wry smile at the appearance of his manager and only brother. He was accompanied by the cross-looking make-up artist, Shae, and the head of security, Bronn.

"But where have your charming companions gone?" Tyrion looked around in mock surprise at the lack of Oathkeeper, "have they gotten sick of you already?"

"Must have done," he replied in surprise.

"And I thought the giantess was having such a good effect on you."

"Brienne," Jaime amended automatically, before wondering why the hell he'd bothered correcting his brother. "And please, I'm perfect just as I am."

"Are you an idiot?" Shae cut in, arms folded in contempt, "go after them, stupid."

"But-"

"No 'buts.' You need to ride with them this afternoon, and anyway, you shouldn't offend them." Her tone defied any argument as she fixed him with one elegantly arched brow. Jaime blinked, opening his mouth to respond before shrugging and turning on his heel, heading off in the direction of the counter. Her authority was unquestionable.

"What was that for?" Tyrion asked quietly as Jaime walked away from them, watching as his brother said something to the girls that made three of them laugh and one scowl. "You know it doesn't matter what bus he rides in today."

"Do you want to be stuck with him moping around for the rest of the afternoon?" She replied, watching the exchange with satisfaction.

"You're brilliant, woman." Tyrion looked up at her in awe. Bronn nodded in agreement. The last thing they needed was that pillock moping around the bus any longer.

"I know." She smiled, pleased with herself, before leading the two men in the opposite direction towards a KFC.

Despite the easy chatter that accompanied them as Jaime re-joined the Oathkeeper girls on their bus, under the watchful eye of his security team, he noticed his favourite target was being even colder with him than normal. He hadn't even been able to provoke a retort out of her as they'd crossed the parking lot to the waiting vehicles. Bringing up the rear of the group, he'd cornered her before she had a chance to join the rest of her band in the living space. The bus was already pulling out as she folded her arms and regarded him sternly, leaning back against the bunks in the confined space of the sleeping quarters. Jaime ran a hand unconsciously through his hair as she stood there, waiting for him to speak and rapidly losing patience with him.

"Look, about earlier," he started with very little of his normal confidence, "I've had people doing things for me for so long that I guess I just..." His usual smooth patter trailed away awkwardly. "I'm not used to the idea of them _not,_ if you see what I mean._"_

Brienne fixed him with eyes so blue they were practically glowing. She seemed to be able to slice through the walls he'd spent years fixing in place, the masks he'd forgotten were masks, to the person underneath. It made him feel strange, suddenly conscious that the person underneath it all might not have been that great to begin with. Just when he was thinking she was on the verge of storming off and telling him to stuff his excuses, her expression softened. The corners of her too-wide mouth gentled, into something that might have been a smile if she hadn't looked so serious. She was always so very serious.

Brienne nodded. "I think I understand what you're saying, Jaime." He exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Wondering at what point her opinion had become so important to him. "You're still an idiot though," she added firmly.

He laughed aloud at that, causing her to smile for real. It had his heart doing a funny sort of stutter. A memory came to his mind unbidden, blurred at the edges by alcohol, of just how close to that mouth he'd been a few days before. He remembered the feeling of her skin under his fingertips as he traced the freckles where her neck met her shoulder, of skin too soft for such a solidly built person. The space between them suddenly seemed a lot smaller to Jaime as he tilted his head back to regard her, "you should smile more."

"Don't tell me what to do, Lannister," came her instant retort.

"You don't even have to think any more do you?" He grinned, "you have an automatic rebuff."

"You're just very predictable," she sniffed, the faint crease of a smile still lingering on her face, "It's hardly worth the effort."

"Oh, no, you didn't." He took a step forward, closing the gap between them, as the strange compulsion to show her just how unpredictable he could be came over him. Her eyes widened but she didn't retreat, frozen in front of him. They were inches from each other when the bus shuddered violently underneath them. A sharp, hideously loud sound ripped through their eardrums as the bus skidded on the road, throwing them to the floor as a rippling like thunder rent the air.

Somewhere behind them metal met concrete.

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(( I'm so very, very sorry about that!

Reviewers, followers and tumblr rebloggers for this chapter - you will all receive, along with my forever love, a yearlong subscription to 'Westerosi Whispers' the premiere gossip magazine in the country. Eligible to Westeros residents only. ))


	8. Chapter 8: The Crash

(( I'm so so sorry I didn't get a chance to answer reviews this week! I promise I'll reply to every single one for this chapter - pinkie swear it! Mega thanks, of course, to IdesofApril for betaing! Aaaannnnd I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!))

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The first thing Brienne noticed was the ringing in her ears. The second was that she'd been thrown to the floor underneath the firm body of the Kingslayer. In any other situation this might have been cause for panic in itself, and quips. Definitely quips. But neither of them had the time to think anything of it. Jaime's grip was trembling as he grasped her upper arms, hard enough to leave bruises. Much like the ones she was currently digging into his shoulders with her clipped nails. They looked at each other in horror, the dull roar of screaming coming from outside and filling the small aluminium space.

Their tour bus had skidded on the road, coming to an unsteady halt across two lanes of traffic. Brienne unclenched her hands, looking Jaime up and down swiftly to make sure he was alright, before glancing over her shoulder where Nan had her hand pressed to her mouth. Ros was reaching for her cell phone to call 911, an ugly gash splitting her ivory skin from where she'd hit the dashboard at the sudden stop. Pushing Jaime away, Brienne struggled to her feet and hauled him up beside her. She stumbled over herself to open the partition door to the living space at the back of the bus.

"Is everyone alright?" Her voice echoed strangely around her head as she surveyed her friends.

The three girls looked up at her, wide-eyed. They'd obviously been seated at the time, _t__hank the gods, _and none of them seemed to have gained more than a few bumps and scrapes from the unexpected stop. Sound rushed back as everyone started speaking at once.

"What happened?"

"What was that noise?"

"Are you hurt, Bri?"

Brienne silenced them with a hand. The look that Nan and Ros were wearing was enough to tell her that something was seriously wrong, and she knew instinctively they didn't have time for questions yet.

"Something's happened on the road, we have to help," she said decisively, spurring them into action. The band rose together without a second thought, brushing themselves off, and followed Brienne across the bus and out on to the street. Jaime watched her in seemingly shell-shocked amazement, seemingly unable to comprehend their readiness to jump into whatever lay beyond. Still, shaking himself, he hurried to catch up as they exited the bus.

The road was chaos, the air thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burning tires. Lying on its side, across the asphalt, was a tour bus. _Jamie's tour bus._ Twisted and bent, but recognizable. The backend of the vehicle was already alight. The rest of the fleet had pulled up around it, people emerging in shock. The road was wide, and had already been fairly deserted in the early afternoon lull, but now it was brought to a standstill. Every lane was full of either carnage or stopped buses, forming a protective bubble around the crash scene.

"Tyrion..." The name was almost inaudible in the commotion but Brienne heard it, turning back to look as the blood drained from Jaime's face.

"How many people are in there?" She demanded, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to look at her. He stared back, uncomprehendingly. She shook him roughly, "_Jaime, __how many?_"

"Five, I think. Five," he replied, his voice sounding very far away. Dropping him she gestured at Margaery to move him away, before jogging across the heated tarmac. Rain was just beginning to fall from the sky, sizzling as it landed.

"Arya, get anyone strong enough to the middle of the bus. There should be a sunroof we can break through. Sansa, we need any one with first aid training too, but keep everyone else back. We don't know if the fire will spread. We need to keep people at a safe distance." Brienne took charge of the situation effortlessly, sweat mingling with rain as it dripped down her face. Her heart was beating double time as she ran across the remaining stretch of road to the smoking carcass of the bus. She found the blacked out sun roof easily. It had buckled from the crash but hadn't broken, the glass webbed with tiny fractures. Leaning forward she shouted as loud as she was able, "if you can hear me in there get away from the sunroof, we're gonna break it!"

Pulling off her shirt to reveal the tank top underneath, she wrapped the fabric around her hands, just like her father had taught her, and swung hard and true at the centre of the fissure in the glass. It shattered under her touch, a few pieces slicing through the fabric, though she hardly noticed as she cleared away the edges of the glass. Two tall, broad men ran up to join her. One of them she recognized as Arya's technician friend, but the other she didn't know. Hunkering down, so she could peer through the hole in the roof, she called out again. The inside of the tour bus looked surreal from where it lay on its side. "Is anyone conscious?! Can you move?!"

She spotted three figures straight away. The tall security guard, the pretty make-up artist, and the personal assistant from earlier were all visible. Tyrion and the driver she couldn't see.

There was a miraculous groan of consent from inside.

"**I am, love,**" a gruff voice responded from inside. "I've got four people in here with me." There was a pause as the bodyguard pulled himself to his knees, assessing the other passengers with a critical eye. "Three in sight. No obvious fatalities."

"The bus is on fire, we need to get you all out of there!" Despite having to shout, Brienne's voice kept its calm. "What's your name?"

"Bronn," he looked around again with resolve. "Right. On it." He crawled towards the slumped body of the personal assistant first, dragging an obviously injured ankle behind him. The assistant was closest to the sun roof, and groaned when the older man gently slapped his face. "Can you move, Pod?"

"I think so, sir," he mumbled. "My arm might be broken though."

"This is not the time to be sir'in me, boy," Bronn muttered as he helped the boy shuffle towards the opening in the side of the bus. Brienne took his uninjured arm, as Arya's friend got him around the waist. Gendry, she remembered his name was. Between them, they carefully lifted the boy out, passing him to another helper. "Get him to the medics. We need a perimeter in case this thing goes."

As Gendry helped carry Podrick away, she went back for the rest of the passengers, stepping over broken glass and bent metal. The unmistakable coppery smell of blood tainted the air around the bus, which was already swollen with the scent of destruction.

Sansa was collecting fire extinguishers from the other buses, a few brave volunteers attempting to put the flames out before they could spread any further. Coughing as the bitter smoke filled her lungs, she pulled the neck of her jumper over her mouth and approached the fire, determined to help in any way she could. Suddenly her arm was seized from behind, spinning her roughly in the grip of someone twice her size. She looked up in fright, eyes widening before, with a sigh of relief, she recognized her tall, scarred friend through the smoke.

"Are you alright, little bird?" His voice was even harsher than usual, thick with smoke and desperation. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His grip softened. "I thought – I thought it was your bus-"

Not waiting for him to finish his thought she threw her arms around him in a tight hug, gripping his waist ferociously and surprising them both. Pulling away all too quickly, she tugged the shirt down from her mouth, "they need help getting people out of the bus, strong help." Nodding immediately in agreement, he turned from her, determined to do as she'd asked. Even if it meant passing that awful flickering heat that burned into the back of his eyelids. She grabbed his hand before he could move away, "thank you, Hound."

"Stay safe," he growled back, eyes darting between her and the flames in obvious fear. "And stay away from that fucking fire." She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead she redirected her foot steps to help Margaery keep the perimeter and to try and help those who'd been injured in the sudden commotion, or those who were going into shock.

Tyrion was the second to last one out. He'd been thrown underneath a table during the accident and was still unconscious, the only one so far. The make-up artist, Shae, had come around quickly, a dislocated arm and swollen jaw the worst of her injuries. The bus driver had been worse than Shae, hitting the steering wheel hard enough to make him swallow teeth, and with bits of glass peppering his skin. Tyrion, however, was unrecognisable, his face split in two and dripping blood.

Brienne was hesitant to move him, but agreed when the fire doubled in ferocity, ignoring the efforts of man and weather respectively. Sirens were finally screaming in the distance as she helped pull the light weight man from the wreckage as carefully as she could. Despite the risk, it was better than leaving him inside the time bomb that the tour bus was quickly becoming. Bronn pulled himself out afterwards. A large man she vaguely recognized as the Kingslayer's drummer helped alongside Gendry and a few of the other volunteers to drag the rest of the passengers behind the boundary that was set up. Finally she gave the gesture for everyone else to move away as the professionals moved in.

The paramedics were on the little group in seconds, taking over for Brienne and hustling Tyrion into an ambulance. Jaime seemed to snap out of his shock as soon as his brother appeared, rushing across the road to be by his side as they strapped him to an ugly orange stretcher. Brienne caught him as he reached them, holding him up as all the oxygen was sucked from his lungs and his legs buckled. She pushed him gently but firmly into the ambulance, turning to leave only to find his hand still wrapped around her wrist. Brienne looked back at him, his face ghostly white as he wordlessly asked her to stay. She climbed up, shouldered him roughly into one of ambulances side seats so the paramedics could do their job unhindered, and settled in beside him. She wasn't quite sure who enclosed their fingers around the others, but she hoped her calloused hand could be some comfort to him.

Jaime couldn't watch as they pulled away from the felled hulk of his on-the-road home, surrounded with debris and slowly being consumed by flames. His itinerary stated that he was supposed to be on that bus. His brother had been on that bus. The brother that now lay in front of him, looking piteously small under the medic's hands, unidentifiable under more blood than Jaime had ever seen in his life. He thought he might throw up when a paramedic shifted unexpectedly and Jaime caught a full look at the gash renting his brothers face in two, swearing he could see bone underneath. Turning his head into the cold plastic of the ambulances wall, he felt self-loathing begin to wash through him. He had stood there, unmoving, as Brienne and her friends had called the crew to order, assembling and directing troops like a battle hardened generals. Even the people his father paid to take care of things in case of situations like this had frozen, but Brienne had not. He had watched uselessly as she pulled person after person out of the rapidly disintegrating vehicle, muscles bunching under the freckled skin of her arms, sweat and grime and blood soaking through the thin cotton of her vest top as she saved their lives.

The paparazzi had found them and, as the ambulances pulled in, they swarmed them with the strobing light of flash photography. A wall of security guards parted the reporters, escorting the wounded into the hospital and trying to protect their famous charges from the shouted questions. Brienne and Jaime were tugged along by the tide, trailing behind Tyrion's stretcher as he was wheeled away into the belly of the hospital. They were pulled into a side room and a tired looking nurse had to physically pry Brienne's hands from Jaime's so that she could administer treatment to the cuts covering them and spreading up her arms. Brienne didn't even realize they'd still been holding on to each other.

Jaime himself was a mystery, refusing all the help and assistance the place tried to force on him as he stuck by her side like glue. The hospital seemed determined to make sure their star client was well cared for, but he insisted he was unhurt and that he hadn't even been near the accident at the time. A dozen different things he'd told the staff until, at last, they were alone. They sat side by side in some forgotten waiting room full of moth eaten green chairs. The air buzzed with silence as the adrenaline finally ended its run through Brienne's system, washing out of her blood and leaving her feeling more tired than she'd ever felt before. Eventually a nurse came in to tell them Tyrion had lost a lot of blood but was in no serious danger. It was a miracle, they said, that everyone had survived that crash so relatively unharmed. They'd expected fatalities. Tyrion was to be admitted to the hospital for an indeterminate amount of time, and might need a skin graft. The nurse had taken one look at the shell shocked musicians and added that, most importantly, he would be kept unconscious for the rest of the night and that there was really _no_ need for them to stay. One half-hearted argument later, and they were pulling themselves up on world weary feet, murmuring quiet thanks before following a large security guard through the hospital to a waiting car.

"You should call your father." Brienne didn't realize she had spoken the thought aloud until she heard her own voice. She was curled up in the back of a blacked out estate car, gazing at the slumped man beside her as the street lights lit his face in uneasy patterns. When he didn't reply she repeated herself louder, "you should call your father."

He finally looked up at her. She found herself suddenly struck by the dark hollows of his cheekbones, the whisper of crow's feet that mapped his eyes and that she'd never noticed before. For a moment she thought he was still in shock, but he thinned his mouth in a grim line and nodded, pulling out a cell phone from his pocket.

"You should call your family too," he said, exhaustion evident in every word, "and your friends, tell them where you are."

With a start she pulled out her own, much cheaper, phone. She hadn't even considered that her father might have heard what had happened. She registered the dozens of missed calls with surprise; the accident must have been breaking news. Hitting redial without pause, she couldn't help but notice that it took Jaime a lot longer to work up the courage to call his own father.

The two conversations couldn't have been more different. Tywin Lannister asked a series of cold but perfectly calculating questions about what had happened and how his younger son had been injured, before promising an inquest and hanging up. Selwyn Tarth tripped over his words in gruff concern, a million questions pouring forth as he contradicted himself, and told her what he'd seen on the news. She'd had to talk him down from getting on the next flight out to the Stormlands, promising she was uninjured and perfectly safe. Brienne hung up with tears pricking her eyes. Taking charge of an accident scene she could handle, helping pull people she knew from a fiery death trap she could handle, hearing the break in her father's voice as he told her he'd seen what she'd done on TV and had never been more proud of her, however, she could _not_ handle.

"When will your father be getting here?" She asked at last, determined to distract herself as she simultaneously texted her band mates to tell them she was on her way to the hotel. The support staff had managed to book them in last minute, even though it meant she'd be sharing a room with all three of the other girls.

"He's not coming." She almost didn't believe the words. Turning in shock to look at the empty eyed man beside her as he only shrugged. "It's not life threatening, so he doesn't feel the need to."

"What about..." Brienne didn't know why she had such difficulty saying Cersei's name, but Jaime seemed to catch on anyway.

"She won't be coming either. She has more_ important_ work in Kings Landing." The distaste in his voice was evident and Brienne got the very distinct feeling that out of all the Lannisters in Westeros, she'd ended up befriending the best ones.

"Oh." She couldn't think of anything else to say. There was nothing else to say.

"Yup," he agreed stolidly.

She looked down, the conversation stagnating in the heavy atmosphere, noticing for the first time the amount of grease and blood that had made her once-white vest top no more than a grease rag. It clung to her skin where the substances had dried, and she knew that if she confronted herself in a mirror she'd look like something from a horror film.

"I need a shower," she said stupidly, picking at the congealed mess covering her. Jaime made a noise of agreement, sitting in tense silence beside her. It wasn't until the car pulled up at the back entrance of a non-descript hotel that he spoke again.

"Brienne..." He trailed off, unsure. Something like fear in his clouded green eyes.

"Yes," she met his gaze firmly, no hint of judgement in her voice.

"Will you go back with me tomorrow to the hospital…to see Tyrion?" His voice was raw, something there that she didn't understand. Looking at him with all the compassion she had, she nodded.

"Of course."

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((Aww bless y'all who thought I was gonna hack Jaime's hand off! No no no my preciouses! At least not yet - lol! For all you know I might never do that! Maybe! Maybe not! Live in blissful unknowing! ;-)

Reviewers and followers are loved but this weeks perk has, unfortunately, been cancelled in the wake of the recent tour bus crash - we apologize sincerely and hope you bear with us during this difficult time.))


	9. Chapter 9: The Aftermath

((Heylo again! Sorry there was a bit of a wait for this but it ended up being much longer and more difficult to write than I had assumed! Thank you to the fantabulous IdesofApril for making it legible and generally 700% better than it would have been otherwise! :D And thankyou so much to everyone who commented, bookmarked and tumbl'd me since the last chapter - I always end of up reading them when I'm cutting onions... (that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!) Anyway - I hope you enjoy 3)

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Brienne found herself waiting for Jaime the next morning, hunched up in a chair that was clearly far too small for her, in the hallway outside his room. She pulled her long, gangly legs up to her chin so she could rest her notebook on them, messing around with a few new ideas for songs as she waited. It had taken her over an hour the night before to shower the grime off. She was still pink from scrubbing, her hair sticking up like straw.

Someone cleared their throat and Brienne's head shot up immediately, zeroing in on the man leaning in the doorway opposite. Realizing it was just Jaime her shoulders dropped, posture relaxing immediately. She wondered how long he'd been stood there watching her. He looked more dishevelled than usual, dark circles shadowing the space under his eyes, but at least he wasn't as freaked out as he had been the day before.

"Ready?" He asked with a wan smile, as she tucked the notebook into her messenger bag. She unfolded herself to her full, awkwardly tall, height and followed him towards the elevator.

"Yeah," she replied, hitting the button for the lobby and sizing him up from the corner of her eye. "Have you heard from the hospital?"

"I got a call this morning. Apparently he's recovering perfectly from the surgery." His smile became distant, joy mixing with anxiety, "always had a lot of fight for a little guy, my brother. We'll be fine to see him today."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said, and she was. Tyrion had always been kind to them, he had a little bit of the Lannister brother teasing-gene perhaps, but he was easy going and likeable. The news channels had been speculating all night about the accident and the internet was already awash with theories. After ten minutes of the same loop of footage, Brienne had insisted Margaery turn the TV off, or at least change the channel. They'd ended up watching a marathon of 90's chick flicks instead. It was still better than the news, in Brienne's eyes.

She found herself continuing to watch Jaime in her periphery as they travelled to the hospital. He seemed, outwardly at least, to be nearly back to his usual carefree form, but there was something off. She noted how he kept moving his hands, pocketing and unpocketing them throughout the short car ride and tapping his hundred-dollar sneakers against the floor. Even his conversation wasn't as smooth as usual, and she couldn't help but feel there was something more behind it than just familial concern for his brother. She stopped him in the hallway outside of Tyrion's room, deserted apart from the security guards stationed at either end. It appeared the youngest Lannister had his own private wing.

"What is it?" Brienne was determined, but not unkind. She rested her hands on her hips as she stared Jaime down.

"What is what?" He tried his usual grin but it had none of its normal flash. His face appeared paler than when they'd left the hotel and she didn't think it was from just the fluorescent lights.

"There's something wrong with you." Her tone demanded honesty. "Why are you so anxious, apart from the obvious?"

"I-" It seemed for a minute that he was going to lie to her, throw some comeback in her face and shrug off the conversation. They were both surprised when he didn't. "I just hate hospitals, okay?"

She took in the light sheen of sweat on his brow, and the way his eyes kept darting towards the exits as he stood uncomfortably in front of her. "You're scared of them."

It wasn't a question but he answered anyway, sighing in defeat, "yes."

"Okay then. Pull yourself together for now, for your brother." Brienne nodded, squeezing his shoulder in an act of awkward solidarity before turning on her heel and walking back towards the hospital room.

"Wait-" Jaime threw a hand out in surprise, stumbling to keep up with her. She looked over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "_That's it? _You're not going to ask a hundred questions or pull out some hilarious quip?"

"Do you want me too?"

The question brought him up short, as if he'd never expected someone to just accept the answer and get on with things. "No."

"Well then. Let's get this over with shall we, Jaime?"

They were stopped at the door by a pretty young nurse who emerged from Tyrion's room with a clipboard clasped between her hands and a smile on her face. She'd obviously been pre-warned about the Kingslayer's visit and had suitably prepared herself, ignoring Brienne's presence completely as she addressed the celebrity. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lannister." She had a charming pink glow to her perfectly made up cheeks, "your brother's wounds are being redressed at the moment and he already has a visitor. We don't want to interrupt during this procedure. It shouldn't take long. If you'd like to take a seat in the waiting area I'll inform you the _moment _you can go in."

Jaime didn't seem to notice the way she batted her limpid brown eyes at her. He only nodded his thanks and steered Brienne into the same moth-eaten green room they'd sat in the night before. They were silent for a while, before Jaime's toe tapping became too much for her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" It was a genuine question. Her tone made it clear that she would say no more if that's what he wanted, but at the same time she was willing to listen. His constant fidgeting was becoming unbearable.

"It's-" He readjusted himself in the uncomfortable chair before letting out a resigned sigh, obviously hoping the conversation might distract him. "I may as well tell you, wench, and appease your curiosity. I spent a lot of my childhood in and out of hospitals." She tried not to look too surprised that he'd decided to share with her, ignoring her personal pet peeve of a pet name and remaining silent so as not to interrupt his thoughts.

"My father brought me and Tyrion there, he must have been a baby then since I barely remember it myself, to say good bye to my mother, or at least the sickly, pallid skeleton that had once been her." His eyes were still shooting around the exits, words twisting in his mouth as he tried to distance himself from the memories. Brienne's heart constricted in her chest, remembering her own mother's passing, but again she said nothing. She wondered if Tywin Lannister had thought he was doing his young children a favour, letting them see their mother like that. She pulled her chair slightly closer to Jaime's."A few years later we got a new mother. She got sick too, spent a few years in and out of a hospital until we said goodbye to her as well. It's a totally understandable fear, as you can see, rational even. I avoid these places as a rule."

"I think I spent most of my childhood in A&E." Brienne admitted at last after an introspective lull in the conversation, she knew instinctively he wouldn't appreciate her pity. "I've broken my nose on three separate occasions, at least."

"How?" He looked up in surprise, face regaining some colour as he tilted his head slightly, acknowledging the bump in her nose that proved her story.

"Tree climbing mostly," she felt the colour rise in her freckled face as she remembered the last time she broke her nose. It had been by head butting a boy, "and the occasional school yard fight."

"I broke my leg once playing football," he smirked, "and walked around on it for a week before anyone noticed." Brienne didn't get a chance to reply before the modelesq nurse from before reappeared. Ushering them personally through to Tyrion's room and shooting looks of disdain at the taller woman all the way.

The visit was short, with Brienne hugging the edge of the room so as not to intrude. When they'd first entered, Tyrion already had a visitor, the usually flawless Shae looking worse for wear with her arm in a sling. She glanced up at them in instant paranoia, before her face lost its harshness as she recognized who they were. Shae rose from her chair with a smile and a muttered excuse about close hospital rooms, but Brienne couldn't help noticing the way her hand untangled from Tyrion's on the white sheet as she left.

The brothers talked with easy familiarity despite the obvious effects of Tyrion's sedatives, ribbing each other gently whilst Brienne tried desperately not to listen in. She barely managed to mumble more than a few words of well-wishing, and batted away a heartfelt 'thank you' from the injured man, before they were politely asked to leave by a doctor. She completely missed the puzzled look about her that Tyrion sent Jaime, and the silent conversation that followed, conducted using only their eyebrows.

Brienne was content to walk in silence as they left the hospital room, eyes mapping their path as he trailed along beside her. She didn't notice the looks he kept shooting at her, entirely unaware that he was rolling an idea Tyrion had given him around his head. The look that Brienne had missed had clearly told Jaime he should be nicer to the giantess, that he might just catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Clearing his throat suddenly Jaime caught her attention.

"So where abouts in the Stormlands did you say you're from?" The question came out of left field as they descended the stairs to the private entrance at the back of the hospital.

_I didn't, _she thought to herself, before deciding to answer anyway. "An island, just across the water from Storms End."

"Nice there?" He swung his arms by his sides, the weight of his anxiety lifting slightly from his shoulders as they neared the exit.

"It's wonderful," she sighed wistfully, remembering the great rocky cliffs overlooking the ocean and the wild grass that grew as high as her waist in some fields. The way that it didn't matter how far inland you went, you could always still smell the ocean. "They call Tarth the sapphire isle, because of the colour of the waters around it."

"Tarth? Is that a coincidence?" He watched her face soften at the memory, thinking about how fitting it was that someone with such very blue eyes should come from such a place.

"Probably," she shrugged. "My dad reckons it used to be ruled by some great-great-a hundred times removed-grand relation but I don't know if I believe him. It's just a story."

"I should be calling you Princess Brienne," he grinned, teeth flashing like an advert for Colgate.

"Don't even think about it," she warned with a growl.

"Still prefer _wench,_ then?"

"You are a ridiculous human being," she walked ahead of him towards the estate car.

"Hey, we were having a moment there! Okay, okay, _Briiiiienne." _He drew her name out like a chore, mood lifting completely as soon as he stepped outside of the hospital walls. "What are we going to do for the rest of the day then?"

"We?" She looked up suspiciously, "who is 'we', mother trucker?"

"Are you going to leave me now to my melancholy? You heartless witch!" He jumped in front of her before she could get the car door open, trying to hold back a laugh at her non-swear as he fixed her with his very best puppy dog expression. His teeth pulled at his lower lip ever so slightly as he looked at her through long golden lashes, "come on Brienne, don't abandon me now."

"Fine," she conceded, a wicked glint lighting her eyes. "Margaery wanted to go shopping anyway, she's running low on eyeliner…_and tampons_." She waited gleefully for him to stutter an excuse and leave her be. In her limited experience there was no quicker way to get rid of a man than to mention the feminine hygiene products they found so strangely terrifying. She waited in vain, instead of running screaming to the hills, he instead swung the door open wide for her and bowed her into the car.

"It's a date."

"No, it's not."

The shopping centre sat a few miles out of town; a huge, metallic, ugly thing squatting in the middle of a retail park. They had picked up the rest of Oathkeeper from the hotel before being dropped off in the parking lot. Arya disappeared as soon as the double doors opened into the air conditioned hush of a shining world of shops. A group of very large men and women, in unconvincing civilian wear, immediately fanned out, trying to look inconspicuous around them.

"Where to first then, gang?" Jaime smiled, opening his arms to encapsulate the whole of the impressive building in question. It was two stories of shining store fronts, open planned with a soaring roof comprised entirely out of clear sky lights.

"Sansa and I have to go and buy... things. She promised she helped me with them," Margaery said, grabbing her friend's arm in a vice like grip and looking meaningfully at her in a way that had Brienne rolling her eyes.

"That's right!" Sansa squeaked in surprised agreement at the sudden crushing pressure being applied to her. "The things, we have to go and... get them. See you later!" Margaery was already towing her away before she'd finished speaking, shooting gleeful looks at the pair they left behind on the way.

"Fantastic." Brienne sighed, "What are we going to... Jaime?" She found he had already determinately set off in the other direction when she turned back to him, waving impatiently for her to catch up, as he drifted inside a high-end designer boutique filled with beautiful silk dresses that were more art than function. "Why are we going in here?" She asked puzzled as she jogged up beside him, he was already rifling through the fabrics, "do you have a drag act you're not telling me about?"

"While I would look fabulous in this, it's not for me." He held up the dress, sky blue and utterly delicate, with a devious smirk. "What's your size?"

Brienne started in shock, "there is literally nothing in this store that will fit me." She regarded the flimsy silk creations in distaste. "Not that I'd want it too, not my style Kingsl- Ugh," she corrected herself before old habits kicked in, "Jaime."

"You'll need something for Friday."

"For a mall signing?" She looked at him with ill-concealed derision. Ros had already updated them on the fact that they'd be staying in the area for a fortnight, doing a few bits and pieces of press whilst the injured crew recovered and they could restart the tour. "I think my wardrobe is perfectly capable of handling that, thank you."

"No ridiculous woman! For your interview on _Late Night with Renly, _you want to look good for your old flame don't you?"

"WHAT?" She screeched loud enough to draw the attention of the snooty looking shop assistants. Flushing red, she quickly towed Jaime further into the store to avoid the quizzical looks being sent their way. The last thing she needed was for anyone to recognize them. She dropped her voice to an angry hiss, "I thought that had been cancelled, in the wake of the accident."

"This is show business, doll face," he said holding up a ludicrous pink shift dress covered in glitter this time. "We just rescheduled."

"There is nothing about you that I don't utterly despise." Brienne snatched the dress from his hands and put it back on the rack, anxiety spilling over her like hot coffee. She thought she'd dodged that bullet. She spun away from him to stalk towards the slightly less dainty section of the store, knowing even as she did so that there would be nothing suitable there.

"I think we both know that's not true." He grinned, absolutely nonplussed as he grabbed the first dress he saw from the rack in front of her. "What about this one?" 'This one' had sequins on it. It would also have been indecently short on Brienne's tall frame, "nice and sparkly."

"This isn't _'She's all that',_ Freddy Prince Jr." She turned her back on him angrily, "a new dress isn't going to make me into the prom queen."

"Hey," he grabbed her sleeve, trying to make her look at him but failing. "That wasn't what I meant."

Brienne shrugged brusquely, a part of her she was unwilling to admit existed was shocked and saddened by his obvious attempt to change her. She had begun to think he knew her better than that. She was well aware she didn't look good in tight strappy dresses. She'd gotten over that a long time ago. She had been too tall for most mainstream fashion since middle school, not willowy but strong. With broad arms made big from helping her father's removals company from a young age and a too-wide mouth that no amount of make-up could disguise marring her freckled face. She had her own style. She wore the clothes she felt comfortable in, and the ones Ros convinced her worked best on stage. This shop _wasn't_ her.

"Brienne," he tried again. She turned at last, staring him down with accusatory eyes. "You don't need silk dresses to make you shine." She blinked in surprise, searching for the mockery she knew must be underlying the words and coming up short. Pink stained her cheeks as she shrugged again, determined not to fall for whatever game he was playing. She was Brienne Tarth and she took zero shit from anybody, especially not from pretty rock stars with ulterior motives she couldn't figure out.

"I don't need your approval."

"And yet, you have it anyway. How about that?"

Not knowing what to say, she rifled absently through another rack in silence before throwing her arms up in defeat. "Why are we doing this when Ros has half a tour bus full of perfectly fine outfits I've already pre-approved?"

"It's killing time," he threw back, completely blasé, as they wandered back towards the front of the store and the freedom of the rest of the mall. "We don't have much else to do."

"You mean we didn't have to spend the last half an hour looking at ridiculous- _now what?" _She halted half way through her tirade as Jaime went dashing merrily past her outside of the shop.

"Look, it's my tour poster! Take a picture of me with the most handsome man in the mall!" He stood in front of the wide advertisement display case, his own face grinning back from the first poster in the row. Brienne was half reaching for the camera he was holding out, when she noticed the second poster. It was for their new album. All four girls dressed in fashionable armour plating, surrounded by vines and twisting trees, a lick of fire illuminating their faces. Noticing her distraction he peered over, his smile stretching even wider with delight. "It's fate! You sir -" Brienne watched in horror as he stopped a passing man, thrusting his camera into the man's hands before collaring her and dragging her in front of the two displays. "Would you mind taking a picture of us quickly?" Not wanting to cause a scene Brienne stood there silently, one palm covering her eyes in embarrassment as the bewildered stranger snapped a picture of them.

"I can't believe you just did that," she muttered darkly as the man handed back the camera and went on his way, "what if he'd recognized us?"

"Nonsense, people aren't expecting to see us here, so they won't see us here." He was the picture of smugness as he checked the LCD display, "trust me, I've been doing this for years."

Looking away from him, Brienne spotted Sansa and Margaery leaving a kitsch little boutique a few shops down and waved them over. The look on her face left them no room to run away again. "Hello," Sansa greeted them cheerfully as she and Margaery caught up. "Oh look, it's the new poster! We should get a picture with it."

Brienne growled. Loudly. Causing her band mates to look shocked whilst Jaime broke out in laughter. "I'll take it," he offered gallantly, waving his camera in the air.

"You will do no such thing."

"Don't be such a spoilsport, B." Jaime insisted, grabbing Brienne firmly by the arms and tugging her in front of the poster again. He patted her shoulder in a calculatedly condescending way when he was satisfied she would stay put, she resisted the urge to snap her teeth at him.

"One photo was perfectly fine, thank you." She ground out, itching to move away as her band mates moved in on either side of her and Jaime lined up the shot.

"Wait – what photo? Did you already get a picture?" Sansa cut into their conversation in confusion after the camera flashed and they stepped away from the display, Brienne's response was silenced by a sudden wave of screaming. For one horrible moment she thought something had gone wrong again, another bus crash, that was until she noticed the wall of teenagers heading towards them.

"_Trust me_, he says." She muttered darkly as Jaime grabbed her arm again, stopping her from fleeing when there was nowhere to hide from the approaching horde. "_I've been doing this for years, _he says."

Jaime hadn't noticed the mob of encroaching fans until it was too late to run. He'd been far too caught up in bickering with his present company. Brienne was a mystery to him, a puzzle he found himself determined to solve. At first it had been a game, a way for him to amuse himself on a long tour. She was the one person that had greeted him with outright hostility. He knew there were other women on the staff who didn't think much of him, but they covered it up with fake smiles and sugary statements. Brienne didn't pull her punches, much to his surprise. Instead of solving her, Jaime found himself uncovering more and more layers of intrigue. She was harsh, blunt, stand offish, kind, loyal and compassionate to a fault. She was funny, both intentionally and not, and saw through his bullshit with ease. Jaime couldn't for the life of him pin point the exact moment he'd gone from playing with her, to actually caring for the infuriating wench, but he did. And damn if she didn't play a mean guitar.

Not to mention she had those astonishing eyes.

The wave of teenagers broke over them in seconds, camera phones flashing as an odd assortment of biros and sharpies were thrust into their hands by eager fans. Jaime's plain clothes security staff were immediately on hand, directing and controlling the crowd with ease to allow the stars some space. Aside from the obvious draw of himself, Jaime was pleased to hear they were screaming his companion's names too. 'Oathkeeper. Sansa. Margaery. _Brienne._'People were even asking where Arya was. It seemed they were getting far more famous than they'd thought. He watched Brienne out of the corner of his eye, scrawling her awkward signature across a dozen pieces of paper as she smiled genuinely at the teens praising her music. She had a soft, striking look that had his heart beating double time.

He was suddenly a lot less pleased about rescheduling the interview with Brienne's old crush. He didn't know why but he was entirely sure he didn't want her smiling like that for Renly.

* * *

((The sponsors of the Kingslayer tour are happy to announce that our previous reviewer perk of 'a seat in the audience of an unspecified Stormlands talk show' can now be confirmed as front-row seats for this weeks episode of Late Night With Renly! We are extending this offer, in thanks, to all reviewers for this chapter. Tickets can be mailed to Westerosi residents only, travel not included. No cash alternative given.))


	10. Chapter 10: Late Night

((Will all ticket holders for this weeks filming of 'Late Night with Renly' please take their seats in the first five rows of the audience, the show is due to start very, very shortly. Tonight's program is sponsored by the literary talent of IdesofApril ~ 'For a Better Beta' and the artistic stylings of Smoucan ~ 'Art that's so amazing it might make you cry'! Please make sure all cell phones and other devices are turned off and remember you are not allowed to use recording devices during the filming of the show. We hope you enjoy!))

* * *

Friday was a tense day for everyone. Oathkeeper's scheduled signing at the Stormlands Super Mall had run over time by almost an hour and they were late to the _Late Night with Renly_ studio. None of this was helped in the least by the conversation that had come a few short hours beforehand. Catelyn had flown back to the girls as soon as she'd heard the news about the bus crash, arriving mid-afternoon the day after their shopping trip with fierce motherly concern written all over her face. Concern that had turned to fury upon discovering that the accident had not been an accident all. The bus had been sabotaged. She'd stormed the executive suite as soon as she'd checked that her girls were alright, demanding the accident report be shown to her. It had taken several days and signed affidavit, but she'd gotten it. Wrapped up in layers of confidentiality clauses and legal double-talk, the truth of the bus crash was laid bare to her. Someone had deliberately tampered with the engine. She was sworn to secrecy, the media wasn't to know it had been anything but an unfortunate technical malfunction, but they now knew better.

_Someone had tried to kill the Kingslayer. _

"You can leave the tour right here and now, girls," she had said, hands braced against her hips as she almost vibrated with anger. The room that was shared but the four band members seemed to shrink in comparison to her. "You don't have to continue in fear like this."

"Tell me, ma," Arya had said from in front of her mirror, applying eyeliner with a heavy hand that Ros would disapprove of. "If we break the contract with Lannister Corp, do you honestly think they'll let us walk away without black listing our name from every venue in Westeros?"

Catelyn's shoulders slumped at the wisdom of her youngest daughters words. "They probably will. Tywin Lannister is a tyrant when it comes to contract breakers. We can deal with it though, even if we have to move all the way across the narrow sea I will make it so you don't have to go through with this."

Sansa hopped off the bed that the rest of the girls were sitting on, putting one arm around her mother's shoulders in a half hug. "We'll be fine. It was probably just some crazy fan after the Kingslayer. They've got the best security money can buy on the case, we'll be perfectly _fine_."

Brienne nodded, "we'll stick by our word."

Everyone was still reeling silently from the truth, looking paler than usual from the revelation, and Brienne in particular was having a hard time trying to wrap her head around the fact someone had tried to murder Jaime. She started in shock when she realized it probably wasn't the first time either.

"I'm so sorry you have to go through this, girls. I should have demanded a better get out clause, I should have-"

Margaery stopped her, none of them used to seeing their usually fearless manager looking so lost. "You did you're best, and you did a better job than any of us could have done. Lannister Corp doesn't make deals you can walk away from. We knew that getting in to this, we'll see it through."

"Go team!" Arya cheered, slightly inappropriately, causing a ripple of laughter that they were all grateful for.

It wasn't long afterwards that they'd been hustled along by Ros, so they'd be ready for the signing. It was nearly three hours of scribbling their names across posters and CDs, and talking to fans that ranged from twelve to fifty-two. They were amazed at the sheer number of people who had come out to see them. Brienne tried to enjoy it, loving the stories of people their music had inspired, and even the ones that just liked the beat. The awkward looking fifteen year old girl who had told her that Brienne was her inspiration nearly reduced her to tears. Even so, underneath it all, she felt a thrumming tenseness in her surrounding that evening's events. The attempt on Jaime's life had worried her deeply, but Brienne was ashamed to admit that their guest spot on _Late Night with Renly_ had her truly terrified.

The dressing rooms at the studio were a lot nicer than most of the ones they'd had on tour. Velvet couches and elegant bags of free samples from the show's sponsors filled the rooms, and there were a _lot_ of sponsors. Ros flitted between the girls, giving them final touch-ups before she could send them to the green room. Brienne was crushing a bottle of water between her hands unconsciously as she waited. The man of the hour, '_Just call me Renly_', had already greeted them. Brienne almost choked when he stuck his perfectly groomed head around the door of their dressing room; he was full of cheery hellos, congratulating them charmingly on the success of their new single. Brienne was struck by how much handsomer he was in real life; his soft, dark curls falling into in his eyes, she was far too tongue tied to reply to him. She was grateful for the other girls around her and prayed that they'd bear the brunt of the interview later. When the time came, Brienne sat perfectly still under Ros' expert hands as she tried to remember the hundred and one different meditative relaxation tips she'd googled the night before to help calm her nerves. They didn't seem to be working.

When they finally made it to the green room there was still plenty of time to kill, and Brienne wasn't the only one stressing out. Sansa had always known she was going to be a successful singer. She'd told her parents as much at the tender age of six, when she'd announced at dinner one night that she no longer needed to go to school as she was going to be a famous pop star. Over the raucous laughter of her older brothers, her mother had gently told her that it was fine if she wanted to be a pop star, but she still had to go to school as all stars needed an education so they had something to write about in their songs. Sansa had nodded sagely and continued eating her fish fingers without another word.

Sitting on the plush couches in the studio's Green Room she was a thousand miles away from the table where she'd made that statement, and a thousand years away from the child she'd been when she said it. Anxiety filled her. This was the biggest TV show spot they'd done yet, their first serious chat show, and she was terrified she'd run out of things to say. Singing was different. She knew the words then, they were always the same and she always knew them by heart. It didn't matter if she was in front of three people or thirty thousand, it was a constant. Tonight she would be on her own in front of the camera with no lines to remember. Well, not exactly on her own, but as on her own as she could be surrounded by her three best friends and Westeros' most famous son.

Sansa adjusted and readjusted herself in her seat, smoothing out the plum-coloured silk of her dress over and over again until, without looking up from her magazine, Margaery reached out and smacked her hands away. They weren't supposed to go on until after the ad break, a group of popular actors from some new movie were on first. She had recognized one of them as Jaqen H'ghar, known as the faceless man because of his diversity in choosing his roles. Earlier they'd found Arya arguing good naturedly with him in the hallway. It was impressive but she was too nervous to be star stuck. Sansa made a note to ask her sister what that had been about, after they got through this alive, of course.

The Green Room was painted a lush golden brown, despite its name. There members of Oathkeeper were seated together on one of the couches, with the Kingslayer propped up in arm chair nearby, leaning bodily over the armrest to annoy Brienne. The two were fighting over the best classic guitar players in history, agreeing and disagreeing in equal parts. Sansa realized early on that he was probably just trying to distract her friend from her own worries about the show, and had a rush of warm feelings for the rock star. Around the room his band was milling about, tuning up their instruments for the end of show performance he was due to give. She looked up through her lashes at her tall friend, sitting silently across the room from her.

They had 'accidentally' bumped into each other a few times since the bus crash the week before. The staff had been rushed about in confusion all week as they tried to straighten everything out, and Oathkeeper had been advised to stay out of the way whilst things were sorted. Sansa found herself wandering the hotel corridors alone in the evenings, finding a small function room nobody ever used on the floor above her room, and retreating there to play the piano and work on her music. While all of the girls in Oathkeeper contributed to the sound of the band, the main song writing duties fell to her and Brienne. Both of them had a natural talent for it. Sansa had been toying around with some notes the taller girl had given her, when the Hound had knocked quietly at the half open door. They never said much, he wasn't _exactly _the most talkative man in the world, but they'd sit companionably together while she played and he listened. Occasionally he'd turn up with food for them to share. It was nice…in a weird way.

Her friends hadn't seen them together. Margaery would have said something to be sure if they had. Not that it mattered. She wasn't ashamed of him or anything. It was just that she wasn't sure they'd understand. She'd never had a friend like Sandor Clegane before. Sighing quietly, she went back to straightening her already perfect skirt.

"Would you stop fidgeting, Ginger Stark?" Margaery put down her magazine and fished around in her delicate clutch for something. "If you're that antsy you can go and get me a coke from the machine. Diet." Dropping some change into Sansa's stunned hand, Margaery prodded her to her feet and pointed in the direction of the vending machine. Sansa felt her face turning red as she stumbled on colts legs across the room, glancing through her hair at the Hound as she fed the machine Margaery's money. He wasn't looking at her but there was a faint smile twisting his scarred face. She felt an answering smile on her own face, and something close to disappointment flashed through her when the machine didn't stick. Retrieving the bottle she sat back down next to Margaery, some of the tension lifted from her.

"Barristan Selmy remains one of the key guitar players in classic rock music." The discussion/argument had been going on for a half hour, at least, and Jaime was doing a very good job of getting under Brienne's skin. Even when they agreed it seemed he always had something to say that would rile her.

"That old man? He should retire already and have done with it," Jaime scoffed, waving a hand airily about at the very idea of it. "He was past it years ago, now it's just sad."

Brienne's rebuttal was halted by the appearance of a perky looking assistant with a headset from a sci-fi film hooked over her hair. "Mr. Lannister, you're on in two, if you would follow me." Brienne nodded her goodbye as Jaime stood to follow the assistant out of the room. The nerves he'd managed to push out of her mind, by sheer force of annoyingness alone, came back with a vengeance. She let her attention flit to the monitor across from her as the show came back from an ad break.

"Ladies and gentlemen – Kingslayer!" Renly's voice boomed across the studio as Jaime appeared to rapturous applause, waving at the audience and flashing his trade mark grin. Renly jumped to his feet to greet him, the two engaging in a mock fight before hugging. "So good to have you on the show again! It's been too long."

"Far too long," Jaime agreed easily, as he fell boneless into the plush red velvet couch opposite the talk show host. The set was minimalist, but cosy, with wooden floors and panelled walling. It had an almost country-lodge type feel under the bright lights. A series of brilliantly coloured plastic antlers hung from the back wall of the set with the words 'Late Night with Renly' hanging from them, just in case anyone forgot. The sight was so familiar it made Brienne's heart ache.

"I see the tour hasn't been stressing you out too much, doesn't he look good ladies?" There were cheers and catcalls from the audience as the camera zoomed in on Jaime's perfectly proportioned face. Brienne scowled at the monitor, turning away as her nerves doubled. She decided it would be best to ignore the interview already in progress as they awaited their turn to be called.

All too soon the clipboard toting assistant was hustling them out onto the stage to join Jaime. The two men rose as Oathkeeper emerged into the hot lights of the studio and there was another round of air kissing and half-hugs as Renly welcomed the band. Brienne felt her cheek burn where Renly had kissed her, momentarily forgetting how to breathe as the expensive smell of his unfamiliar aftershave assaulted her senses. She stumbled to seat herself, realizing too late she had unintentionally sat herself smack bang next to Jaime, who had already flung his arm around the back of the sofa behind her_. _She couldn't even bring herself to be annoyed at him, she was too busy praying the ridiculous amount of foundation Ros had smothered her in was doing its job and hiding her blush.

"Now this is the first time we've had Oathkeeper on the show. And, as if you didn't know, this Oathkeeper is Sansa Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Brienne Tarth and Arya Stark. Welcome ladies!" Brienne desperately averted her eyes to the floor, trying to ignore the way her heart fluttered when he said her name. She had dreamt about the moment so many times. He pronounced it perfectly, not calling her by some stupid nickname like Jaime would. "We were just talking in the dressing room about the success of your new single, 'Maiden's Fall' - available to download now, you girls must be proud."

Sansa and Margaery readily took up the thread of conversation and Brienne was too focused on not looking at Renly, and reminding herself how futile that particular infatuation was, to pay much attention. A few minutes passed in mostly silent introspection until she was startled from her thoughts by Jaime's leg bumping her own. She had thought it was an accident until he did it again. Every few seconds he'd nudge her with his thigh, warm through her black leggings. Looking up, she shot him a glare, not knowing what he was playing at. Before he could do it again the talk show host pulled him back into conversation. "Kingslayer, am I right in saying that Oathkeeper wasn't actually the first band supposed to be supporting you on this tour? Originally you were in talks with The Bloody Mummers?"

"Hm, yes, we were at one point but it didn't work out." He shrugged elegantly, thigh still brushing against Brienne's. "You know how these things go, show business and all."

"I can't believe that ended well. None of them are exactly known for being... _easy going._" Everyone knew that about the Bloody Mummers, the Celtic punk band had legendary tempers, especially after a drink or two if MTV news was anything to go from. Brienne was very glad they didn't get stuck on the same tour as them. Jaime Lannister was heaven sent in comparison, even if he did keep jogging her with his leg.

Jaime laughed along with the audience at Renly's comment, "oh no, no one could accuse them of that! But it was nothing serious, just a simple matter of _'creative differences'_." He threw air quotes around the last phrase, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly at the host.

"Well, you seem to be getting along a lot better with your new supporting act," Renly noted with a coy smile, pausing expertly for the audience to coo appreciatively at them. _Panto crowd, _Brienne thought witheringly.

"_Much_ better," Jaime leant forward, the wicked little smirk he saved for special occasions curving his mouth as he moved the arm behind Brienne ever so slightly to squeeze her shoulder. She turned the glare up full force this time.

"But maybe they're not so fond of you?" Renly chuckled, noticing Brienne's reaction and calling the audience's attention to them. She wanted the fat red cushions to swallow her whole. "Not a fan of his then, Brienne?"

"Jaime is an excellent musician," she said shortly, with as much tact as she was able while trying to shrug off the hand that was still resting on her shoulder away.

"And a terrible human being." Jaime added helpfully for her, leaning back in the cushions and giving her a look of faux contrition.

"That's not what I meant." She contested hotly, determined not to be made a fool of by him on live television.

"Really? It sounded like it to me," he pouted.

"Stop misinterpreting my wor-"

"Like cats and bloody dogs these two," Arya muttered tactlessly loud over them before they could dissolve into further bickering.

"So the rumours we've all been hearing about you two hooking up are all false then?" Renly was on the edge of his seat, eager to hear the latest gossip first. He could smell an exclusive a mile away. Brienne wondered if it was possible for a human being to spontaneously combust, it seemed possible as she felt the speculative eyes of a hundred audience members trained on her. She suddenly felt a lot less charitable towards her former idol for putting her in such an awkward position. She couldn't remember him ever being so unnecessarily personal when she watched him as a teenager.

"A gentleman never tells." Jaime winked, answering for her. Brienne tried to remind herself that punching him on network television wasn't a good idea.

"Completely false," she stated plainly, never taking her eyes off the infuriating man beside her. She dared him to contradict her.

"You wound me, Brienne." He gasped, clutching at the place where his heart would have been, _if he had a heart, _Brienne thought icily. "Is the idea so horrifying to you?"

"He is quite a catch, y'know." Renly added in, attention fixed hungrily on the musicians on his sofa. If he was shocked at the idea that someone as handsome as Jaime was playing so blatantly with a woman as _unusual_ as Brienne, he made no outward signs of it. Brienne wanted to turn around and tell him to butt out, her annoyance for the smarmy chat show host growing.

"You're misinterpreting my words again, Kingslayer."

"We're back to Kingslayer again are we, _Princess_?"

"Don't call me that!"

"I'm sorry, really, would you prefer I call you wen-"

"I swear to the gods I will end you, Jaime Lannister, if you finish that damn sentence."

"Woah, we're gonna have to call time on this cat fight!" Renly finally interjected, much to the disappointment of the audience who had been watching the back and forth between the two guitarists like a tennis match. "You're going to play your new song for us after the break though, right Kingslayer? If you can make it off that couch alive, that is." The host grinned and to Brienne it looked crooked and false on him.

"Yes I will! I'm actually thinking about dedicating it to a very _special lady_." His hand found her shoulder again and she rolled her eyes, entirely done with his antics.

"Very funny," she muttered, somewhat deflated.

"And on that note, ladies and gentlemen, we'll be back right after this short message from our sponsors."

The studio lights dimmed as the red light on the camera flashed once, twice and then the make-up artists were swarming in for touch-ups. Jaime was immediately pulled away, over to the raised platform across from the seating area, where the live acts performed. His band had already set up, the scarred drummer lounging behind his kit as the non-descript bassist and back up guitarist tuned up. Brienne tore her eyes away from the golden haired rock star, trying to ignore how cold the left side of her body was now that he'd moved away.

"You guys were really great," Renly said as a pint-sized make up girl powdered him fiercely. "Did you plan that bit? It's gonna be great publicity."

"What?" Brienne was shocked, _did people really do that?_

"Either way it is gonna be a great spot of TV, the ratings will go through the roof!" He smiled as if he were sharing some special secret with her but Brienne felt cold towards him. She realized his eyes looked muddier than they had done on television, the wrong side of blue to be true green.

Jaime thanked his guitar tech with a nod as she handed him his golden Gibson SG, dropping the strap over his head automatically as he looked over at the seating area. His fingers found the tuning pegs without him telling them too as he watched Renly lean over to say something to Brienne. A wave of jealousy crashed through him, he'd seen how flustered she'd become by the stupid chat show hack but had managed to distract her for most of the interview. Now she was alone with him and Jaime was powerless to do anything_. _

He tried to convince himself it was stupid, Renly was gayer than Christmas. There was no way he'd get his claws into Brienne like that. It wasn't working. His eyes were drawn back time and again to her, her hair becoming a halo under the studio lights. He couldn't stop thinking about how she was probably laughing at Renly's jokes in his absence, he decided that it was concern for her that made him so attentive. He was just worried she'd fawn all over her fellow Stormland's native and then get herself disappointed when she found out how shallow he really was. Yes, Jaime was only being a good friend to her by worrying.

The make-up artists disappeared as quickly as they'd arrived, the stage manager calling the audience to order as the camera started blinking red again, zooming back in on the excitement as the feed went live. "And we're back!" Renly turned his smile up as the camera caught him, "just in time to hear Kingslayer's newest musical offering. Number one in the Stormland Charts, number one in the Westeros Charts, it's Kingslayer with his new, soon to be world wide hit, 'Everlong' – take it away!"

The first notes were soft, gathering around the hushed studio as Jaime played his first cue. He never needed to think with songs like this, he could play it through in his sleep, but this time he didn't. He found himself feeling every note, the thrum of each cord through him like a shot of adrenaline. Unbidden, bright blue eyes floated in front of his mind. Sometimes angry, sometimes compassionate but always sparking with an energy he'd only dreamt of. Leaning forward into the mic he ran his tongue over his bottom lip and started to sing.

"_Hello, _

_I've waited here for you..._

_Everlong._

_Tonight I threw myself into_

_And out of the blue_

_Out of her head she sang..."_

He remembered the sound of her voice when he'd watched her perform, so much strength in her even as she sang in the background. She gave her soul away with every song. Something he'd stopped doing years ago. Tonight he'd change all that. His voice was husky with emotions he hadn't catalogued, languorous and enticing; he glanced down, chewing on his bottom lip before looking back across at Brienne.

"_Come down  
And waste away with me  
Down with me  
Slow, how...  
You wanted it to be  
I'm over my head  
Out of her head she sang"_

The drums picked up behind him as he played, fingers moving like lightening over the frets, giving up any pretence of control. He gave himself to the song.

"_And I wonder  
When I sing along with you  
If everything could ever be this real forever,  
If anything could ever be this good again,  
The only thing I'll ever ask of you  
You gotta promise not to stop when I say when - _

_she sang..."_

The song seemed to last forever, the audience stomping and chanting in a way unseen before in the twelve years of the shows history. Jaime barely noticed, all his attention focused in the moment, every lick of the guitar feeling like the first time he'd played. Every phrase of lyrics was new to his tongue. Meaningful. He felt truly alive for the first time in a long time, and then it was over. Renly said something witty, the audience applauded, and the cameras were wheeled away as assistants and stage hands ran about to usher the acts to-and-fro like cattle.

Jaime blinked in the light. He'd forgotten momentarily where he was, on a stupid show with its ridiculous host. He was ushered with the others towards the backstage, finding himself once again beside his personal Amazonian. She had a look he couldn't read across her usually open face. Something far away and unfamiliar, he bumped her with his shoulder to get her attention. Blinking she looked around at him, a small smile flickering on her wide mouth.

"You were really good, you know."

He thought of a dozen hilarious replies he could throw at her, all guaranteed to make her snort or insult him or both. Instead he said, "thank you," and meant it.

The after show formalities didn't take long and sooner than they expected the acts and their staff were being escorted out to the back entrance of the building. Due to the location of the studio, they'd have to cross the pedestrianized square at the back of the building to reach the pick-up area. The walk had affectionately been dubbed 'the gauntlet' by a decade of guests and their awaiting fans. It was more crowded that night than it had ever been before. The Gauntlet was lined with people. Everyone in a hundred mile radius knew that Kingslayer and Oathkeeper were due to be on the show and had turned up in support, regardless of whether they had tickets or not. They crowded together, filling the space entirely, and spilling out into the parking lot. Every age and type of fan crushed together in eager anticipation of their idols. Banners and signs were flung high in the air as the back door opened and a squad of security guards jogged out to clear a runway for the guests.

Jaime stepped out first, followed closely by Brienne and Margaery, with Arya and Sansa pulling up the rear. They paused briefly here and there down the line to sign autographs and snap photos with the overly excited fans. Everyone was exhausted from filming and longed for the hotel rooms awaiting them. The fans however, were less eager to see them leave. They were getting closer and closer to the bus, the security guards stretched thin to try and keep back the surging crowd, when all hell broke loose.

Wave after wave of fans crushed against the front row, elbows flying as they shoved and pushed their way past the guards. The ones in front bore the brunt of the motion, bruises blossoming across the breadth of the mob as fights broke out over who had shoved whom in there desperation to get to the stars. The security team could no longer hold them back. The crowd shoved forward, running and shrieking as they grabbed for their idols. Determined to get a touch, a scrap of clothing or hair, anything to prove they had been there that night.

Brienne didn't have a chance to swear before Jaime seized her arm, both of them being hustled towards the awaiting bus through the melee by a quartet of epicly proportioned security guards. They were shoved bodily on board, the door shut behind them as the four guards took up vigil in front of the vehicle. Brienne could hear the 'slap, slap' of hands against the side of the vehicle, even as Jaime dragged her deeper into the safety of the bus, the screaming unbearably loud through the metal walls.

She didn't have time to say anything to Jaime, aside from a hurried 'thank you,' before another handful of people where being hustled through the door. The Kingslayer's bassist, back up guitarist and Margaery followed shortly after by Arya and Ros. Brienne looked around with fear as she counted heads.

"Sansa – where's Sansa?"

The crowd was all around her, swallowing her in a wave of human bodies as hands tugged at her dress and hair. There were a hundred voices, indistinguishable from each other, screaming at her. She felt the sharp pull of fingernails at her scalp as the acrid scent of unwashed flesh clawed at her throat. Sansa covered her head with her hands, struggling forward against the sea of humanity broiling around her, claustrophobia and fear mixing in her veins. There wasn't a security guard in sight and she could barely see the bus through the crowd. Pushing desperately through, she tried to make it to the vehicle. Sansa didn't see the leg thrust in front of her until it was too late. Tripping over it, she thought truly that she would die there, crushed in the riot behind the studio of her first proper TV interview. The world seemed to stop moving around her, everything going in slow motion as she tumbled towards the cracked concrete beneath her, her heart stopping in her chest as she fell.

An arm closed around her waist, warm and solid and real. She was pulled bodily away from the ground before she could strike it. Someone twice her size tucked her gently against his chest as they fought through the crowd. The familiar scent of leather and cigarettes filled her head as she watched an arm, corded with muscles, knock the crowd out of the way like it was swatting flies.

"I got you, little bird."

She sighed in relief. She was safe.

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((Jaime is, of course, singing a Foo Fighters song in this chapter! With a one word lyric change ;-)

Thank you so much to everyone reviewed and followed so far! It really helped me write this (although it accidentally made it about 2000 words longer than usual!) All reviewers for this chapter will receive a 2-for-1 coupon which can be used at any Westeros theme park or activity adventure site that bears the Happylands Crown Seal of Approval!

All BotB based artworks and extras can be found on my tumblr under the name 'Snowfright-sketches' so if you ever want to send any asks or y'know, bask in my general stupidity, please feel free to add me, I love hearing from you more than you'll ever know!))


	11. Chapter 11: Gift Shop

((Heylo again! Here's this weeks chapter, I hope you all have your two-for-one vouchers ready because we are going for a day out! Special thanks, as always, to my actual American twin and beautiful beta Miss IdesofApril, 3 more love for Smou and her AMAZING art for this fic, I teared up a bit when I saw it! And love for ClumsyCapitolUnicorn who made some AWESOME posters for Oathkeeper & Kingslayer! How come y'all are so talented? This is ridiculous! 3 ))

* * *

"Are you dating the big creepy guy with the melty face?" Margaery demanded at last, throwing the magazine she had been suspiciously peering over for the last ten minutes down in front of her ginger friend.

"What?" Sansa blinked in surprise, looking up from her book. They were still grounded in the Stormlands, the tour due to start again in a few days' time. The members of Oathkeeper were lounging around their shared room in the weak morning sun.

"Big guy. Melty face. Murderous older brother. Are you dating him?" Margaery stabbed a finger at the blurry picture underneath the headline, '_Oathkeeper's Sansa Stark Saved From Mob of Fans by Kingslayer Backing Drummer.' _Margaery was obviously distressed over the fact her BFF had been keeping secrets from her.

"The Hound? No. Of course not." Sansa felt her face heat up at the very thought of it. He didn't look at her like that, he was just protective. The photo must have been taken just before she'd set foot on the tour bus, her face turned towards him as he pushed her inside, their bodies inches from each other as the crowd threatened to break over them like a wave. The incident was still fresh in her mind, it had only happened a few days before after all. The publicity from the riot was almost enough to overshadow the antics between Brienne and Jaime on Renly's show completely. Although MTV news still decided to run a little segment about the importance of their 'body language.' Brienne had thrown her shoe at the screen half way through when the word _tension_ was mentioned one too many times.

"Well Sansa, that picture looks pretty friendly to me and T-B-H I don't know if you should be dating someone like that. He's weird. His brother tried to _kill_ a guy, that's not good news." Margaery's incredulous eyebrows were threatening to disappear into her perfectly even hairline, "so, what exactly are you two?"

"Oh, I don't know." Sansa waved her hands in exasperation at Margaery, not understanding why she had to lump everyone into categories like that. Everyone else only saw the scowl and scars, not the person wearing them. Her face softened at the thought, "he's my friend."

A voice carried out of the bathroom as the younger Stark girl interrupted their conversation, "are you talking about the big dude you were hugging after the bus crash?"

Margaery whirled round in shock, "you knew about this before?" She shrieked, "and you didn't think to _mention it!?"_

Arya emerged, scrubbing her damp hair with one of the hotel's super plush towels. "If Sansa wants to date some huge creepy dude, that's her business. We don't all gossip about it, Marge, some of us aren't terrible human beings. "

"I swear, I will pull the hair from your freakishly small head, Baby Stark!" Margaery growled, advancing on Arya.

"I'm not actually _dating_ him." Sansa pointed out with a sigh, fingertips idly tracing the lettering of the headline in front of her. "Are we done here?"

"Not by a long shot, missy." Margaery replied just before she sprang, chasing the younger girl back into the bathroom. "I'll deal with you later!" She called back over her shoulder.

"Has he ever hurt you?" Brienne asked from the bed across the room where she'd been watching the scene with interest, her note book discarded in front of her.

"No," Sansa replied pensively, closing the magazine and resting her head on her chin. "I know he doesn't look it, but he's really not creepy at all. He's strangely... kind."

"Well then, it's your business." Brienne said firmly, packing her stuff away in her trusty messenger bag, "but if he does ever hurt you, it'll be my business and I'll break both his legs."

Sansa leapt to her feet and threw herself at the unsuspecting girl, engulfing her in a hug. "Don't tell the others, but you're my favourite."

"I heard that!" Margaery's muffled yell came from the bathroom as she faced off with her tiny arch nemesis. From the placating noises that followed, Brienne could only assume Arya was holding her hostage with the detachable shower head. There was a scream and the sound of rushing water before a very bedraggled looking Margaery pulled herself out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and barring the younger Stark in. "She's evil."

They laughed until Brienne's phone buzzed in her bag. Disentangling herself gently from Sansa's hug, she found her feet. "And on that note, I gotta go."

"Date with _your_ boyfriend?" Margaery asked smugly, wringing the water from her hair and paying close attention to the blush creeping up Brienne's face at the suggestion.

"If by date you mean 'a social engagement' and by 'boyfriend' you mean friend who identifies as male, than yes."

"Practically canon," Margaery sighed with quiet elation as she dripped onto the carpet.

Catelyn passed Brienne on the threshold of the hotel room, "you off somewhere, Brienne?"

"She has a-"

"I agreed to help Jaime with something," she cut over Sansa quickly, shooting the girl a glare that rated highly on the 'Utterly Terrifying' scale.

"Oh, _that_ _Lannister boy _again." Only Catelyn Stark could reduce a musical icon to a naughty school boy in one short sentence. "We'll see you later, anyway. Remember we have an early start tomorrow with that magazine shoot-and Margaery! Stop dripping on the carpet. Where's Arya?"

An angry thump was heard from the bathroom as Arya tried to free herself. Brienne took this as good a cue as any to leave.

She'd gotten the text from Jaime last night, asking her casually if she'd care to visit Tyrion with him again. Knowing his fear of hospitals, she'd agreed immediately, not wanting him to go through that alone. Brienne wasn't sure when she'd stopped despising him. Maybe it was seeing him vulnerable when his brother was in danger, or maybe it was before, in the ballroom. All she knew is that when he'd sung that song in the studio the other day, she'd forgotten Renly was even in the room. She'd watched him perform dozens of times, the other members of Oathkeeper liked hanging out in the wings of the arenas they played in after a show and she wasn't one to spoil their fun. He was always technically flawless, hitting every note and chord with a precision she admired, but he'd never played like _that _before. It was emotive and seductive and alive and she saw properly for the first time the reason he was known as the best musician in Westeros.

Shrugging off the uncomfortable notion of just how enthralling she'd found him, she made her way to the parking garage, unwilling to examine her feelings too closely. He was already in the car when she dropped into it and she found herself opening and closing her mouth in surprise as she took in the sight of him. He'd dyed his shining golden hair dark, mousey brown, his bottle-green eyes were muddy grey behind thick rimmed glasses and he obviously hadn't been bothered to shave. If it wasn't for the ridiculously gorgeous bone structure and familiar grin she almost wouldn't have recognized him.

"Like the look?" He pouted, tossing his head as if he were in front of a camera.

"Why in the world?" Even his wardrobe wasn't right, a red plaid shirt underneath a black hoodie, with one of those trendy beanie hats perched on his head. "You look like a... hipster."

"I'm in disguise, idiot!" He laughed, pulling a paper bag from between his feet and tossing it at her. She caught it automatically and stared at him. "Well," he prompted her after a moment, "open it."

Rifling through the contents of the bag she frowned, puzzled, as she pulled out another pair of glasses, a baseball cap, an awkwardly match-y plaid scarf and a long blonde wig she immediately threw across the car. "That parts never gonna happen."

"Thought not."

"Why do we need this elaborate disguise to see your brother? The back entrance to the hotel is pretty secure." She pulled the hat on over her hair, trying to peer in the tinted window's reflection to see how it looked.

"There may have been a slight change of plan. We're not going to see my brother, he checked out of the hospital last night anyway." Jaime inched ever so slightly away from her as he said it, a move that proved valid as she whipped around in her seat and pinned him with her stare. "We're going somewhere fun, instead." He offered weakly in supplication.

"What? You said we were going to the hospital!" She had been lured in under false pretences, "do you honestly think this is a wise idea? Did the riot at the studio not worry you in the least? Not to mention the fact that someone actively tried to _kill_ you, Jaime. Maybe we should go back to the hotel." Her shock turned to anger, and then to concern, at the thought. Taking the hat from her head she twisted it in her hands, ready to put it back in the bag. He snatched it from her hands before she could.

"Don't worry about it, B. It'll be safe," he placed the cap back onto her head, smoothing back an errant lock of hair in a surprisingly gentle way. "I promise. I brought the full troop of security personnel and look, we're disguised too. My own father wouldn't recognize me, which is something I'm going to remember for our next family meeting."

Brienne started back at his touch, blinking rapidly as she hastily readjusted the hat for herself, using it as excuse to distance herself from him. "I – I guess if the security team is there." She mumbled in defeat, trying to calm her irrationally fast heartbeat and putting on her fake glasses. "Though why you've dressed us up like this I don't know."

"That's fashion, baby."

They drove for a full half hour before stopping, the tinted windows making it tricky to identify where exactly it was they were until Jaime handed her out of the car. She stood blinking under the giant blue sign that greeted them, happy sea creatures prancing over the top of it as the car door clicked shut behind her.

"You brought us to the Stormland's Sealife Park?"

"It looked fun," he shrugged, linking an arm through hers before she could protest and dragging her towards the entrance. He flashed a couple of tickets at the man as they were let in, a half dozen beefy plain clothes personnel following at a respectable distance. "What do you want to see first?"

"Have you ever even been here before?" She asked, ignoring his question but subtly steering them towards the penguins. It was a Monday morning and the park was still fairly empty, devoid of the usual assortment of tourists wandering around in small packs under the watery sunlight.

"Nope, have you?"

She shrugged, disentangling her arm from his to lean them against the bars of the penguin enclosure, watching the dozens of fat little birds waddling inside. "Once or twice, my Dad took me here for my birthday when I was eleven." They were silent for a while in contemplation. Brienne watched as an important looking rock hopper penguin knocked a common emperor off its perch. It had silly yellow feathers masquerading as hair and an arrogant strut that looked all too familiar, she started to chuckle and pointed at it. "Look it's the Jaime Lannister of the Penguin World!"

"If that was meant to be an insult it failed." He tipped his head back imperiously, "that bird is clearly the best. It has fabulous hair and a fantastic suit."

"They're all wearing suits," she pointed out flatly.

"Yes, but my bird has the best. Look at those clean lines. I bet if it had fingers, it'd be the best guitarist too."

The bird wobbled and fell off of its rock as another, bigger penguin, appeared, sending it flying into the pool. "I just hope it can swim, bye-bye Jaime bird," she sighed with a little wave at the penguin as it tumbled adorably into the water.

"That was the Brienne of the penguin world, wasn't it?"

"Even in penguin form I'm better than you." She smirked, following him away from the enclosure and into the underwater magic of the Park's aquarium. The weight she'd felt pressing down on her in the car had lifted; the stress from the tour, and all the life-threatening moments that had hung over it, momentarily forgotten in the glowing blue world of the sea park. Brienne loved the ocean. The pleasant waters around the coast of Tarth had been a utopia for every type of creature, and being surrounded by them again made her feel at peace. They saw otters in their lagoon, and great fat seals swimming about in thousand gallon tanks. Brienne loved how the ungainly creatures could look so elegant in the water. It was like poetry.

They walked for hours around the park, staring in at the sea creatures, occasionally fighting over which one would win in a fight. Jaime made them ride all of the roller coasters, thrilled that she didn't back down once in the face of them, even the one with the double loop and the sheer drop. She did protest when he insisted on buying the awful photos at the end of each one. They didn't stop until way after lunch time, resting their feet at one of the outside picnic tables with store-bought sandwiches to enjoy the relative warmth of the Stormland sun and the peace of the mostly deserted park. It wasn't raining at least.

They hadn't been sitting long before they were interrupted by a couple with matching bottle-thick glasses and fanny packs. One of them was wearing a sun visor that had Jaime biting his lip in silent mirth. "Excuse us dears, but you dropped this." The woman handed over Brienne's ugly plaid scarf, much to her distaste. She had realized it had fallen off in the store and accidentally forgotten to pick it up again. She rather hoped it would be 'lost' for good.

"Thank you," she said as kindly as possible, trying not to let her disappointment show.

"So nice to see young couples out and about, isn't it Dave? I was just saying to him how nice it was."

'Dave' nodded soundly at his wife, patting her on the arm, "yes, Margaret, that you were."

"Are you kids locals?" 'Margaret' asked. At the realization that the couple obviously weren't keen on moving on any time soon Brienne shot Jaime a worried look. Jaime smirked back in a way that did nothing for her nerves.

"My fiancée, Bella here, is. Grew up round these parts. Not me though, I hail from up Ashemark way, me-self." His accent made Brienne want to sink into the table and cry. "Name is Edward, pleased to meet you."

_He did not, _Brienne thought in disbelief as Jaime shook hands with Dave and Margaret Puddle, Vale natives down for a weeks' vacation. _Bella... and Edward. I will kill him. _She was more annoyed at that then the idea that they were supposedly engaged. After chatting for far longer than Brienne was comfortable with, Jaime suddenly shot to his feet, startling Brienne out of her daze and hauling her up with him.

"So-w sorry Dave, Marg-_ret_. Me and the missus have to be go-win' now, appointment to keep. Thank y' again for findin' me ladie's scarf." Tugging her along behind him, he didn't slow down until they were clear across the park, heading towards the very back.

"What was that about?" She asked angrily as she was towed along behind him, "and what appointment? Where exactly is it we're going now?"

"Always wanted to try that accent, I thought I did it quite well if I do say so myself." Jaime replied in his usual honey-gold tone, ignoring the majority of her questions in the broad way that had her wanting to spit. "Come along, wench, places to be."

"_Bella and Edward?" _She almost spat, long legs making it easier to catch up with him.

"First thing that came to mind." He shrugged airily, "besides, it fits doesn't it? I'm a supernaturally attractive guy. You're a boring mortal gal. Do the math."

"There are not enough languages for me to adequately express my hate for you right now." She muttered darkly, pulling up short when he stopped suddenly in front of her. "Oh, this is the dolphin medical centre."

She recognized the building through a haze of childhood memories. There hadn't been any animals staying there the last time she had been, and she doubted anything would have changed. Still, she had tried to steer Jaime in this direction once or twice earlier, to make sure, but he had always gotten distracted and gone haring across the park in the opposite direction. Jaime opened the door to the almost deserted building, giving her a brief flash of the dozens of no photography notices and noise warnings, and ushered her inside.

The Sealife Park didn't keep dolphins for shows, it had stopped doing so decades ago, along with the great black whales that lived so unhappily there. It did have a rehabilitation centre though, on the furthest corner of the complex. Perched out on the edge, with the ocean stretching behind it, were the pools and tanks where the injured and disoriented dolphins could be cared for before their release. The ones that were too damaged to survive in the wild were given permanent homes at the aquarium, but were never made to perform tricks for the punters. Patrons could walk through the less urgent areas of the building, observing some of the dolphins through glass walls and from walkways, but couldn't be guaranteed a sighting.

Jaime pulled her deeper into the building, the tanks were mostly empty, but Brienne gasped aloud when a sleek grey creature swum alongside them like a flash of lightening. She wanted to stop and press her face against the glass. She hadn't seen a dolphin in years, not since moving to Winterfell, and she hadn't realized how much she'd missed the creatures. Grinning wider to himself, Jaime didn't allow her to pause. Instead he tugged her past the tourists to a door marked 'staff only' and knocked quietly upon it. It was opened by a frazzled looking woman with dark hair and glasses, who looked Jaime up and down quickly before ushering them in.

"Welcome, Mr. Lannister, Ms. Tarth. You're right on time. I'm Doctor Wentworth." The woman smiled warmly as she led them through the 'back stage' area of the building, leaving Brienne to gape speechlessly at Jaime in confusion. He propped a finger under her jaw and pushed her mouth shut teasingly, remaining infuriatingly silent as they followed the doctor.

"We can't thank you enough for your donation, Mr. Lannister. I was just discussing with Carlos all the equipment we can now afford," her voice trailed off as they pushed through the narrow corridor, odds and ends of fancy looking scientific equipment littering every surface and barrels of fish lining the pathway. She at last paused before a door, swinging it open and leading them through to the wide open space before. "Here we are! This is Caroline."

The room was huge, more of a warehouse than anything else, with high vaulted ceilings reflecting the light off of the water below. Most of the space was dedicated to an enormous tank, Olympic swimming pool sized at least, with a gate at the side that looked like it connected straight to the ocean outside. 'Caroline' turned out to be a streamlined, grey, bottle nose dolphin. She swam up to the edge of her enclosure as soon as they appeared. Dr. Wentworth crouched down beside her and patted her nose. Brienne forgot how to breathe.

"She was rescued from a zoo in Essos a few months ago and brought to us here, it'll be a while before she can be released back into the wild but we're optimistic it'll happen. Caroline, these are our visitors. Say hello." The tired looking doctor glanced up at them, a smile crinkling her eyes behind her glasses. "Would you like to come and meet her?"

Jaime had to push Brienne forward, stumbling over herself before regaining her equilibrium and kneeling down next to the doctor and her charge. She reached a tentative hand out, large and ungainly compared to the gentle creature, and carefully ran it over Caroline's head just as Dr. Wentworth had done. Caroline was warm and rubbery to the touch. This was the closest Brienne had ever been to a real live dolphin, and it was almost too much to bear. Memories of her childhood, of her mother, swam before her eyes as she cooed over the graceful creature.

Brienne's mind, moving slower than it usually did, worked to catch up with the events her day out with Jaime. He had planned this, he had to have done. _But why? _Glancing over her shoulder she caught his eye, he was smiling but not in his usual cock-sure, king-of-the-world way. It was smaller, and warmer, and infinitely more real. She found herself blushing again and didn't know why. She was soon distracted by Doctor Wentworth, who lugged over a small barrel of fish and showed them both how to feed Caroline. Jaime crouched beside her to help and she was unexplainably aware of just how close he was, barely hearing the doctor's lecture on the dolphin's eventual rehabilitation plan, even though it would have normally fascinated her.

After, they had been kindly dismissed by the obviously busy woman, who shook both of their hands and lead them back to the buildings entrance. They found themselves walking back towards the centre of the park in companionable silence. Brienne's elation at the experience warred with her confusion as to why it took place. Eventually she caved, never being one to beat around the bush about things for long, and came straight out with it.

"Today, with the sea life park, and the rescue centre...why did you do it?"

"It seemed like a fun idea," he shrugged the question off with his trademark grin. Her gaze didn't lighten, seeing through the smile to something underneath that he didn't want to show. She knew it wasn't a flight of fancy that had spurred the day's activities, especially not with the amount of forethought that must have gone into getting a pass into the usually air tight rehabilitation centre.

"Jaime." The name was quiet, a serious request made to a very unserious man.

He scuffed the dirt with the toe of one perfectly weathered brown boot, looking at her with surprisingly innocent eyes, still evocative even behind fake glass and contact lenses. "It's just a... a thank you, I guess. You saved Tyrion's life and stuff, and as my father always says, _a Lannister always pays his debts_."

"I bet it's creepier when you're dad says it," she smiled, diffusing some of the tension and letting him gather his care-free persona back around him like armour.

"Damn straight," he laughed, darting to the side and opening the door to the gift shop for her before she could object. It was a cavernous, rainbow-coloured wonderland inside. The smell of plastic and cotton candy battling for dominance in the shrine of consumerism.

"How did you know about the dolphins?" She asked, as he immediately rushed to the plush toy section like a kid at Christmas. He paused in his mock fight between a fluffy polar bear and a penguin.

"Seriously? You have, like, six different dolphin T-shirts," he grinned, remembering some of her more hilarious outfit choices. The Lisa Frank vest top he'd spied her in as she entered her dressing room at the last show had almost been too much for him. "Not to mention the phone charms."

"Oh," she started in surprise, pulling her phone from her pocket and seeing the three dolphin shaped charms dangling from the top corner. She never really noticed them anymore. One was a plastic gumball machine charm Sansa had given to her, another was a gift from a would-be-stepmother from the past and the third she'd found in the Winterfell shopping mall quite unexpectedly as a teen. She had forgotten all about them. "I see what you mean," she conceded, stuffing the phone away again and knocking away the felt manta ray he was sneakily trying to attack her with. "You're smarter than you look." He chuckled planting the fuzzy ray on her head like a hat and ducking out of the way before she could smack him. She had put it back on the shelf and was straightening her hair with a grumble when he asked his question.

"So, why dolphins?"

She paused, regarding him with careful eyes as she decided just how much to tell him. He had been honest with her about his past, about the parts the media knew and didn't. He'd told her things she doubted he told just anyone. Brienne took a deep breath, propping her shoulder up against the fuzzy display and decided he deserved nothing less than the full story.

"When I was younger, on Tarth, there used to be a pod of dolphins that swam past the island every year on their way from Essos to the Sea of Dorne." She trailed her fingers along the fuzzy bodies of a mob of seals, gaze drifting to the past. "My mother would take me to see them. There was a cliff near the house with a perfect view, and we'd run to it on the morning of the hottest day of summer. And every year they'd be there, swimming across the bay in the distance." Brienne was amazed at how fresh the memories were even after all this time. A barely closed wound she doubted would ever fully heal. "She died when I was nine, in the spring. That year the heat-wave never came. I thought it was a sign. She had gone, so the sun had stopped shining, and the dolphins wouldn't come any more. I thought it meant that the sadness would last forever, and the world would stop." She steadied herself against the well of sadness that still existed within her, determined to finish her tale. "Then, one day in the middle of September and far later than it should have been, the sun started shining again. Painfully hot. I woke up to it streaming through my stupid paisley curtains and ran all the way to that cliff, bare foot. And there they were, the dolphins, as if they'd never left and nothing had changed." The ghost of a smile flitted across her face as she turned to look at her companion properly, he'd been standing patiently silent beside her. "And I realized that life went on. We had to make the best of it that we could, because we couldn't change it. The world still turned and the dolphins still swam. If they could do it, so could I. That's why dolphins." Any trace of sadness had faded from her voice. She shrugged her shoulders and nudged her still silent companion with her elbow. "What's your favourite animal?"

"Uhm, Lions I guess." His smile returned, mirroring hers as he ran a hand through his hair unconsciously. "Can't bloody top that story though, as to why. They're just cool looking."

"Typical," she sighed, shaking her head at him in mock disappointment, "you choose the animal with the best hair. Pretty and shallow."

He slid up close beside her and arched a brow, "you think I'm pretty, huh?" He laughed as she elbowed him again, blushing awkwardly. "I prefer the term handsome or pant-droppingly sexy though, for future reference."

"You're insufferable." She was smiling as she said it, unable to help herself. Much to her surprise she had somehow found a true friend in the unlikeliest of places, in Jaime Lannister. As insufferable as he occasionally was, he was also so much more. Brienne was glad she'd had a chance to find that out for herself.

Jaime insisted they buy something before they left the gift shop for home, attempting to convince her that the almost life-sized dolphin sitting proudly in the middle of the toy display was the best choice, but she'd fought him off. It was entirely too big and too expensive to accept. Eventually, under extreme duress, she agreed to accept something smaller than her hand and under five bucks. The range was limited, and she surprised them both by not choosing a dolphin as he expected, claiming she already had one in her collection that was far too similar. He'd already decided on a fuzzy emperor penguin keychain, laughing that he needed a constant reminder not to get too big for his rock. After shrugging non-committally, she'd chosen the matching rock hopper penguin with it's silly golden hair, declaring that she couldn't be bothered to deliberate any longer and that it would get them out of the shop the fastest.

It now sat smugly on her night stand, daring her to examine her choice in stuffed animals more closely. She glared at it in place of the man who it in _no way_ reminded her of, before turning away, unsettled by the way her heart sped up even thinking about him. Much to her surprise, none of the girls said anything about the new addition after it had mysteriously appeared beside her bed. Brienne had caught Margaery though, staring gleefully at it when she thought no one was looking.

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((This weeks chapter was brought to you by the Happylands Tourism Group with thanks to Kingslayer tour team and entertainment management company. Commenters for this chapter will receive a free jar of Kingslayer-approved Marshmallow Fluff, for a fluffier life! (Valid to Westeros addresses only)

Oh and if anyone has drawn or created anything inspired by this fic that I haven't seen yet... TELL ME IMMEDIATELY SO THAT I CAN LOVE YOU! I'll also be answering questions and character-info prompts over on Tumblr for the rest of the week if anyone wants to chat? Anywho! See ya next Monday beautiful people!)


	12. Chapter 12: After Party

((A little earlier than scheduled I bring you Chapter 12! My eternal thanks to IdesofApril for being an awesome beta and amazing friend, thanks to Smou for inadvertently inspiring this chapter with one of her BotB drawings ;-) and to everyone who reviewed, messaged, faved or plain enjoyed the story so far. I can't tell you all how much it means to me 3  
The song in this chapter is a reworded version of The Nearly Deads - 'Never Look Back'. ))

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The bus was on the move again.

After a hurriedly rescheduled stint at the Storms End Superbowl, they were rolling out of the Storm Lands and leaving the lightening behind as they headed west towards the Reach. Oathkeeper was eager to get back on stage, their two week stay-cation had been relaxing but they all missed the excitement of performing live.

"Mail call!" Catelyn greeted them by way of a wake-up call on their third morning of non-stop driving. Margaery flailed a hand out of her still-closed curtains, never the morning person. Arya made a sound like an angry cat at being awoken but was pacified when her mother, knowing Arya's need for instant sugar, threw a doughnut at her. Mollified, she joined Sansa and Brienne at the kitchen table. The other two girls were already passing around coffee and pawing through the pile of letters that Catelyn had dumped before them. Eventually Margaery was persuaded to join them after much swearing and cajoling, her green silk sleeping mask pushed haphazardly to the top of her head, lured from her nest by the smell of delicious caffeine. Brienne never could understand how she could sleep in the flimsy silk eye garment, or in her comically over-sized curlers.

The heap of envelopes was more than a little intimidating as they seated themselves around the kitchen table, there must have been over a hundred different letters in every conceivable size and colour. It was a new experience, since they'd never gotten real life fan mail before. But with their increasing popularity it seemed that it was one they should come to expect. Catelyn had been handed the sack of letters that morning by a harried looking security staff member when they'd refilled at a gas station just after dawn. "This is the first lot," Catelyn said over the rim of her coffee cup, strong and bitterly unsweetened. "The security team has already x-rayed it apparently."

"How very... comforting," Brienne said, pulling a letter from the pile. A lot of them were addressed to the band in general but there seemed to be almost as many dedicated to individual members. Brienne tore hers open first, covered in glitter and hearts, as her friends opened similar items.

"It's much easier answering the fans on our twitter," Margaery sighed, grabbing a sharpie from the pack Catelyn had thoughtfully left on the table and signing her name across a photo that had been sent to her.

"We have a twitter?" Brienne looked up from her missive, smudged purple gel pen scrawling love across the page.

"We've had it for like a year, Brienne," Arya answered, flicking through her pile like lightening, much less concerned about their contents then her friends.

"Oh." Brienne shut her mouth and read through another few, signing pictures when they were circulated around the table.

"Oh, how sweet," Sansa interrupted the silence, holding up a beautifully rendered drawing of them, "our fans are so talented!"

"Hmm," Arya countered her sister with a page of badly drawn stick figures with their names above them, she considered them carefully. "Still better than I could draw, I guess."

Margaery cackled while holding up a letter triumphantly, "first marriage proposal, suck it bitches!"

Sansa gave her a pointed look and Brienne grumbled dejectedly as she held up her own, childish scrawl across the page in red ink. "First death threat."

"Shit seriously?" Margaery dropped her letter and snatched the one from Brienne's hand. "'_Stay awy fr'm Kingslayer, bitch, you don't desev-re him. I'll fukin kil u._' Gods."

Brienne shrugged, nonplussed, "if it wasn't written in felt pen maybe I'd be more worried."

Margaery tore the letter into pieces and disposed of it. "What nonsense. I much prefer the marriage proposals."

They buried themselves in the pile of mail again, signing and chatting lightly. A few more threats were discovered and discarded. Including one ominous missive directed at Brienne claiming that she '_would be next_' if she '_didn't watch her step_'. Several more proposals and declarations of love where discovered too, there was even a poorly phrased letter from a 'Mr. Wagstaff' enquiring after Brienne's availability that had her laughing for a good five minutes.

Fan mail, it seemed, was stranger than fiction.

Although they were sent some of that as well, including a hefty fifteen page long manuscript describing, _in great detail,_ Brienne's and Margaery's forbidden love, which had everyone laughing and creeped-out in equal measure. They arrived in Grassy Vale early in the afternoon, giving the crew plenty of time to set up and run a full sound check before the show started. It had been nearly a fortnight since Brienne's impromptu aquatic adventure and she hadn't seen that much of Jaime since, only stealing snarky moments between press conferences and phone interviews. She'd had to empty her inbox several times after all the text messages they'd exchanged though. No one had time to do anything before they'd arrived, swept along in the hectic ride of getting the show back together and getting on the road. Arya hadn't been able to hang out with her gang of misfit boys, Sansa wasn't able to sneak off to see her definitely-not-a-boyfriend and Margaery, well Margaery still took the opportunity to flirt with anyone in any place but even that had been curtailed in the rush.

Still, spirits were high. Margaery was in raptures over the prospect of visiting her childhood home again. Brienne, less pleased at missing out on the chance of visiting her old haunting ground, was still happy to have her guitar back in her hands. Everyone was thrumming with excitement as they finally made it onto the arena's stage to rapturous applause, internally squealing over the Oathkeeper banners showing up through the blinding stage lights as they played their set. Brienne found herself wondering if Jaime was in the wings watching them too or if he was busy getting ready for his own show. She knew the latter was probably more likely but she found herself playing harder anyway, focusing intently on the music to give it the best performance she could give. Her attentions were rewarded by a familiar blonde head ducking out of the shadows off-stage when their set ended, obviously being dragged back towards his make-up room by a small army of assistants.

After the concert had ended everyone relaxed in a post-show euphoria. They had two more nights in the city before they were to move on, and cheers rang through the back stage area at the best performance of the tour so far. The artists and staff gathered in the hallway as the Kingslayer emerged from his second encore and announced that the club next door to the stadium had been rented and everyone on the tour was invited. If that wasn't enough, there would be a free bar too.

Brienne barely had time to struggle out of her on-stage armour and into her flats before she was being pulled along with the tide of party goers. Margaery had somehow managed to change into a green skin tight number the band collectively called the 'pulling dress' in the five minute lull, prompting Arya to exclaim loudly how glad she was they all had separate rooms at their hotel this time. They were surrounded by laughter and security guards as they found themselves ducking into the three story brown stone building that housed Grassy Vale's most exclusive club. The hallways were crowded with people. Everyone from caterers to drivers, technicians to merchandising staff filled the building and availed themselves of the free drinks and loud music. Brienne lost Margaery first, a wink and a wave heralding her exit as she stalked prettily off after a statuesque brunette that worked PR. Arya followed shortly after, greeting her handsome dark-haired friend by punching him. Sansa smiled knowingly up at Brienne at that, sticking by her side until they were parted by a wave of people on the second floor. Brienne turned, trying to use her height to its full advantage as she searched for the red haired girl, instead finding herself face to face with Jaime. He was casually gorgeous in designer torn jeans, one easy grin and she was following him through the club without a word.

Jaime held the bottle in the air, the dim light of their deserted corner of the bar filtering through it artistically. "This is a fine vintage," he said grandly, inhaling the varied aromas of the beverage before nodding sagely. "Leather and grape fruit with undertones of salted caramel and peanuts. Just a hint of roses and a twist of lime shower gel."

"You actual idiot," Brienne was finding it hard to talk between her laughter, choking on the look of superiority on his face. "It's a fucking Heineken! Just drink it."

He grinned, the mature façade dropping like a stone as his inner naughty school boy showed through. He clinked his bottle against Brienne's, "cheers!" They were sitting in an abandoned corner of the club, three levels and six rooms of various genres of music and dancing going on around them. Jaime told her he'd discovered the abandoned bar room the last time he'd been in town. It was the smallest of the club's areas, located on the top floor with a sign on the door saying staff only. Jaime had ignored it and dragged her in behind him. The space was cramped, all low key lighting and wooden floors, packed with covered tables and dust. There was no staff there. In fact there was no one to bother the two musicians at all. Brienne had seated herself behind the bar, knees pressing against the bottles hidden underneath as Jaime leant across the other side.

"We got our first fan mail today." She told him, twisting her bottle between her fingers and watching as the light reflected through onto the fashionably distressed counter top.

"Gods, don't you have a secretary for that or something?" He laughed

"No," she snapped automatically, before shrugging her shoulders and flicking her bottle cap at him. "Some of us still do it by hand."

"So is it the marriage proposals or death threats you're still thinking about?" She looked up at him in surprise at his perceptiveness, "Yeah I know, smarter than I look."

She smiled back at him at that one, "Mostly the death threats, to be honest, although the marriage proposal was interesting."

"Ah ha! Someone's trying to steal you away from me." He held his bottle up like a sword, rugged determination shining from every feature, "I shall not have it, give me the return address of this Brigadoon at once!"

"Cut it out," she mumbled, cheeks stained red as she wondered why he always had to tease her like he did. It wasn't as if he could be interested in a girl like her after all, she was well aware of that. She wished he wouldn't flirt so much. It made her feel awkward and somehow... sad. "And did you really just use the word 'Brigadoon'?"

"Word of the day on Tyrion's calendar," he admitted conspiratorially, swigging his beer and looking half a pirate and half a knight in shining armour.

"So have they figured it out yet, about your situation?" She asked, finishing a quarter of the bottle in one mouth full. An advantage to being so solidly built was that her alcohol tolerance was much higher than that of her waifish friends.

"Has who figured what yet?" Jaime asked obliviously, propping his chin on his hand and fixing her with those cut glass eyes of his.

"Who tried to kill you? Dumbass."

"Gods only know. Some weirdo," he paused before leaning over the bar and looking at her pointedly. "I tend to attract them."

"They probably see you as their king," she replied dryly.

"Ow! I'm going to need some lotion for that burn." His wounded look turned salacious in a heartbeat, "will you rub it in for me?"

She felt her face warm again, damning him to each of the seven hells in turn for his innate sensuality. She told herself it was perfectly natural to be affected by him. It must be like that for any woman faced by the not unimpressive charms of Jaime Lannister. She would _not_ take it personally. "I said cut it out." The muffled thump of music was the only noise as they drank together, a long moment of silence stretching comfortably between them before Jaime started up again.

"So Brienne," he rolled the 'r' in her name like dice as he leant back on his barstool, feline grace to the last. "What is it I always see you writing in that notebook? Is it a diary perhaps? Do I star in it? Tell me at once if I do."

"Your ego could keep ships afloat," she mumbled, hand reaching instinctively to check her messenger bag was still at her side. The only time she was without it these days was when she was on stage. She'd felt particularly inspired recently, although she couldn't figure out why. "It's just song ideas, y'know?"

"Oooh, can I look?" He practically dived over the divide between them. She smacked a hand into his chest before he could reach her bag. She pushed him firmly back into his seat and tried to ignore how firm and warm he was through the soft cotton barrier.

"Easy, tiger." She rose from her seat, pulling herself away from him and walking around to the other side of the bar. Hesitantly, she withdrew her notebook. "You can see some of it. A couple of the songs aren't really there yet and..."

He grinned as she trailed off, knowing exactly what she meant. "Yeah I get it. I refused to let Tyrion hear 'Pretender' for months before it was recorded."

She let herself smile, butterflies fluttering inside her as she pulled up the stool next to him. Draining the last of her drink for courage, she flicked through the worn pages until she found the most complete song in there. The page was criss-crossed with scribbles and smudged ink but the notes were clear, lyrics written meticulously above each bar of the song. She'd already gotten Sansa and the girls' general approval on it, but it felt different showing it to Jaime like this. She never shared her unfinished music with anyone outside their little group.

"'Never Look Back'?" He read the title aloud like a question as he scanned the page. Brienne drummed her fingers against her leg to stop herself from snatching the notebook back. "It reads well, but I can't help but think it would play better." He snapped his fingers as if he'd been inspired, grabbing the notebook off of the bar before she could reach it and darting across the room to the small stage where music could be played. A small, but serviceable, piano filled half the stage. She had no choice but to follow him, butterflies turning to bats in her stomach as she crossed the room in his wake.

"Jaime, don't be ridiculous it's not finished yet."

"Come on," he wheedled, setting the notebook up on the music stand and uncovering the keys. "The music from the other room should disguise the sound so it's not like any one will hear us." He patted the space on the piano stool next to him invitingly before cracking his knuckles. "Now come and show me how this starts, I'm still not brilliant at sight reading things for the first time if I haven't written them."

"Why's that?" She asked, taken aback as her feet automatically carried her to the seat next to him. Unable to deny him for the moment, it seemed.

"Dyslexia, remember? I'm better than I was before but I still have my moments." He grinned wolfishly at her.

"Oh, I thought that was the drink talking last time," she said stunned.

"The drink was definitely talking, didn't make it any the less true though." He elbowed her jokingly, "don't tell the press, it'd ruin my reputation." He positioned his hands on the keyboard and attempted the first note, she moved her hand over his without thinking, repositioning his fingers on the keys and trying not to notice how warm his hands were.

"I'm not very good at playing the piano," she admitted, stalling desperately for time in the hopes he might give up this idea, "And it won't sound right anyway. It's written for the guitar."

"Enough with the excuses; I'm playing, you're singing." He shushed her, determinately playing the chords in front of him, slowly at first but gaining pace. She didn't open her mouth when the first lyric came in so he nudged with a firm look, restarting the song from the beginning.

Hands clenched in her lap, she cleared her throat carefully and shut her eyes. Thinking of the alcohol inside her and praying it would make her brave, she pretended she was in front of a crowd of strangers and not alone in front of him.

"_You've got a mouth full of words and nothing to say,_

_If you could have seen how I was yesterday,_

_A hopeless disaster._

_But I'm getting better -_

_At being faster."_

_Is there any other way to win your life?  
Then to throw it all away and cut the ties?  
You could never put me in my place, to begin with._

_Who are you judging anyway?_

_It's my neck on the line."_

Her eyes flew open when he joined in. He spared her a millisecond grin before his attention was focused back on the page.

"_Say goodbye, to everything.  
Forget your regrets,  
They're better left behind.  
Say hello, to everything you want to be.  
What's holding us back,  
Is keeping us from life."_

Their voices blended well together, his uncertainty at the melody adding to rather than detracting from the song, until he played the wrong chord and they fell into quiet laughter.

"It's good," Jaime bumped his knee against hers. She was all too aware of how small the piano stool was and how close she was beside him. "Really."

"Thanks," Brienne felt herself blushing again.

"What made you write it?" Jaime asked with his fingers now still on the piano keys.

"We got a lot of comments," she shrugged not quite meeting his eye as she substituted 'I' with 'we' in her story. "About how we'd never make it because of who we were. What we looked like. We had bad reviews before we'd even properly played, and it took a while before we could put them behind us. This... this is a celebration of that. A way of saying we won't let them hold us back anymore."

"You're so much more than they could have ever thought," her long fingers were fussing with the edges of the notebook as she muttered another quiet 'thank you,' heating under his gaze. He reached out impulsively, stilling her hand with his own. The scent of stage make-up and hairspray filled his senses as he leant closer to her still, trailing his fingers slowly down the deceptively soft skin on the back of her hand. She was a contradiction; hard planes and softness, strength with vulnerability. He couldn't get enough of the puzzle she presented. "Brienne," it was little more than a whisper. She turned to him, uncertainty sparking in her stunning sapphire eyes, still heavily kohled in black from the show.

"Jaime?" Brienne didn't know what to think. _He'd done it again_. He'd pulled her away on another stupid adventure, waving at her defences as he streaked past them laughing like a hyena. He'd pushed himself so far into her life she could barely remember a time before him. Now he was sitting a hairsbreadth from her, green eyes staring languidly into her soul as he looked at her in a way none of her other _friends _did.

He only smiled at her, that special secret little smile that had her heart trying to bust its way out of her ribs. She could've counted the flecks in his irises they were so close. Surrounded by semi-darkness and the far-off sound of music, warm and still and open ended. She knew she should pull back, move away. Do anything to break the spell he had over her before she made a fool of herself in front of him, before she confused his teasing with something more than it was. Something it could never be. Brienne was frozen, pinned beneath his stare as his fingertips sent sparks rushing up her arm and shooting through her body. She inhaled sharply, ready to pull away.

And then he was kissing her.

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((Reviewers for this chapter will receive a free sample of Darling Doreah's, official sponsor of Oathkeeper, new stay-soft lip balm in the shade 'Broken Tension'. Westeros addresses only. See you next Monday ;-) ))


	13. Chapter 13: Hallways

(( Look whose back! *spoilers, it's me!* I'll keep this short so we can get on with the good stuff :D Thanks to my Beta IdesofApril for making everything better ;-) and thank you all for your reviews - they really do make my day, it means the world to me! ))

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His lips were soft against her own, insistent as she yielded unthinkingly beneath him. There was no time to be anxious, her insecurities shoved forcefully to the back of her mind as his hand tangled in the short strands of her hair. He brushed the heated skin of her neck, making fireworks burst behind her eyes. Every inch of her burned at his touch, sure and firm against her, as he angled his mouth against hers. She could practically feel the grin on his face through his kisses. She knew he would be wearing the self-satisfied smirk that would light his languid features and render him impossibly beautiful. She wanted to scream and punch him, to melt against him so he'd never stop. For a second she thought of how wrong this was, how unlikely. Then he closed his teeth gently over her lower lip and she forgot how to think anything at all, burning up from the inside as he took over her every sense.

They broke apart at last, breathless in the dusty air. It was then that Brienne's mind caught up fully with her body, registering his hand still pressed into the hollow of her neck and the other grasping her upper arm. Her own hands had wound themselves tightly into the fabric of his shirt of their own accord. He smiled at her through lidded eyes, brushing his fingertips feather light across the skin of her neck.

"I knew you'd come round to me sooner or later," he practically purred. "I knew I'd get you in the end."

She blinked at him, reality rushing back in like the tide as her mind absorbed what he had said. Someone thumped into the door outside. A drunken party goer most likely, but it could have been the police come to arrest them for murder from the speed Brienne moved at. She pushed back from his grip and stumbled to her feet.

"Is that what this was?" She was trembling and didn't know how to stop, voice grating through the still atmosphere. "You proving that you could _get me_?"

The languid haze lifted from Jaime's face, "what? Brienne, no, that's not-"

"This is a game to you." She cut him off, talking more to herself than to him as her fears were confirmed. "Of course it is. Gods, I'm so fucking stupid."

She tugged a hand hard through her hair, the pain keeping her in the moment as something that felt horribly like tears burnt the back of her eyes. She looked at him, at his handsome face and devil may care attitude, of course it was a game. Proving he could get the uninterested girl, the _freak_. Before Jaime could move or even speak she was gone, running from the room as if the hounds of hell were after her.

Brienne stumbled through the crowded hallways, disorientated and hurt, stomach squeezing painfully as she beat herself with the notion of her own stupidity. She'd been a fool. _Again. _She pushed back the memory of that _other _time, the other man who'd hurt her like this. She ran straight into Arya on the second floor, not seeing the tiny girl from her height. Arya turned, fists raised ready to start a fight only to drop them when she noticed Brienne. One look at her friend's face was enough to have her waving goodbye to the boys and dragging the tall girl through the club with one hand, the other furiously texting the rest of the band.

Sansa pushed a wave of amber hair behind her ear, dropping her eyes as she laughed at something her unexpectedly funny companion had said. She was sitting at the end of the second floor bar with Sandor, the flashing lights casting them in and out of shadows. She thought that, from this angle, her friend's face could almost seem whole.

".. so I took his fucking shoes and ran." The Hound finished his story with a dark flourish, eliciting yet another wave of laughter from Sansa.

"I don't believe that happened," she accused between peals of laughter, "It's too funny!"

"Well... I might have exaggerated the thing about the bulldog... a little." He grinned lopsidedly. Sansa had to duck her eyes again at the funny little flutter she got when he smiled, playing with the straw in her rapidly emptying drink to distract herself. She risked another glance at him, he seemed about to say something when the song changed. A familiar sequence of notes beat through the club and she gasped aloud. Dropping her straw as the dance remix of _Maiden's Fall _began to play "This... this is my song. Come on we have to dance to this!"

"I'm not much one for dancing-" He protested even as she sprang to her feet, tugging him along with her.

"This is special occasion," She wheedled, pulling on his arm with a wide smile as her own voice echoed through the room.

"I guess if it's a special occasion." He conceded but she had dropped his arm before he finished his sentence, her phone vibrating in her pocket. Pulling it out with a frown she took one look at the message from Arya and grabbed her jacket.

"Sorry, somethings happened – I have to go." She waved a distracted good bye as she ran from the room, not seeing the look of disappointment she left in her wake.

Sansa met Margaery at the door, Brienne and Arya turning up seconds later. Without a word they formed a tight group around Brienne and hustled her back to the hotel.

The four girls crowded into Brienne's room, three of them talking at once as Brienne's head still spun with what had happened. Less than an hour had passed but it felt like it could have been a life time, and yet she could still feel the press of his lips against her own. Tingles shot through her body even as she shook with anger and shame. After a few mumbled non-responses from Brienne, Sansa shushed her friends. "Don't worry sweetie, let's get you a drink." Margaery snapped her fingers in agreement and crossed over to the little mini-bar and hot beverage tray the hotel was stocked with.

Sansa slanted a look at Margery as she firmly tipped the contents of the hot chocolate sachet into the small hotel mug, they both were whispering fiercely at each other. "She needs something warm and comforting."

"Like Jack Daniels," Margaery replied as if it was the obvious thing in the world, wiggling the tiny amber bottle she's retrieved from the mini bar.

"Alcohol is never the answer." Pouring the boiling water into the mug, Sansa shot the other girl a glare before stirring it carefully.

"Calm down Sansa, this isn't an after school special." Margaery huffed, unscrewing the lid and dumping half the bottle into Sansa's creation. "Now we've compromised."

With an unsatisfied shrug Sansa brought the drink over to Brienne, noticing the tremors still shooting through her friend's over-sized hands as she took a deep drink of the burning liquid. Brienne was obviously deeply affected by whatever had happened, this would have to be approached delicately.

"So, what happened?" Arya asked with her usual lack of tact. Sansa smacked herself in the forehead before sitting cross-legged at the end of her bed.

"I- that is to say, Jaime," Brienne stumbled over her words, cutting herself off to take a deep breath. She shut her eyes and said it flatly. "We kissed."

The noise Margaery made had not been heard on the planet for millions of years, not since the pterodactyls roamed the skies had such a screech been made. Her elation was terrifying. Margaery threw herself onto the bed next to Brienne with a triumphant squeal. "I KNEW IT!"

"Oh," Sansa sighed dreamily, "well that's a good thing isn't it, B?"

"Of course it's a good thing," Margaery answered for her, practically levitating with glee. "It's the best thing ever!"

"Pipe down, Tyrell." Arya silenced the other girl with a waved hand, dark eyes fixed on Brienne. "What did that asshole do?"

"It wasn't real," Brienne answered firmly, heart twisting in her chest as she said the words. "It was a game to him. He just wanted to prove he could 'get' me, prove to himself that he was irresistible. And I fell for it." The slight crack at the end of her sentence had her blinking back tears again, shame washing through her. She placed the mug onto the bed side table, worried about sloshing hot chocolate over her pristine white sheets. "It was a mistake."

"Are you sure that's what he meant?" Sansa asked quietly, twisting one lock of hair around her finger as she watched her friend. "I know he can be annoying, but he didn't strike me as being that bad. Not around you, anyway. He's not like..." Sansa trailed off, not wanting to hurt her friend further.

Margaery finished the sentence for her, "like Hyle."

Brienne clenched her fists, a shot of pure anger burning through her at the name, chased as it always was by a wave of sadness that she hadn't yet been able to fully shake. "We don't talk about that," she groaned out, half-bitten nails slicing into her palms.

They didn't talk about it, it was an unspoken rule. Hyle Hunt had been a senior at Winterfell High when Brienne had moved there. He had been tall and handsome in an average sort of way, with an infectious smile and, for reasons unknown, had taken an unlikely interest in the gangly blonde new comer. He'd singled her out almost immediately, worming his way into her good graces and turning up at the most unexpected moments.

"You could be a super model, y'know." He had told her one day. They were alone together in one of the little music practice rooms she hid in at lunch, his feet propped up on her amp in a way that should have annoyed her but didn't.

"Don't be absurd." Brienne felt her face heating and cursing her pale complexion as she tuned her guitar on auto-pilot.

"I mean it," he laughed, tossing back his fashionably long chestnut hair. "You've got those legs girl, damn."

"You have to be beautiful to be a supermodel, Hyle." She'd reminded him acerbically.

"Bollocks. You don't look like those cookie-cutter fake bitches if that's what you mean by '_beautiful_,' but you are working with a whole other look." He tilted his head at her, one lock of hair falling in front of his eyes in a calculatedly sinful way. "There's something about the angle of your cheekbones and the curve of your smile, it's unique, which is so much better than boring old '_beautiful_' in my book. It wins out any day of the week."

Brienne had been flattered beyond words. She thought she was so tough back then, so clever. She truly believed she could see through her fellow students bullshit come-ons and jokes at her expense from a hundred paces. Hyle had been the only one to get through the net. Charming and teasing and gnawing his way beneath her breastbone like a flesh eating maggot aiming for the naïve organ beating underneath. When he asked her to meet him in the alleyway behind the science block a few weeks later she hadn't hesitated. The weather had been unseasonably warm for an October in Winterfell, the sky crystal blue above her. Her hands trembled as he smiled at her, he looked at her as if she had made the sun shine; her heart hammered against her ribs as he'd wrapped his arms around her, leaned up and kissed her. It had been the most wonderful, terrifying moment of Brienne's life up until that point. A little awkward, but with the sun soaking into her skin and with his warmth and faintest bite of winter air, it had been magical. She didn't stop his hand as it crept under her jacket, fingers burning through her sweater. That's what boys did after all. Gods knew she didn't want to frighten him off, not when she felt beautiful, and special, and _normal _for the first time in a long time.

And then the laughter started.

It rang in her ears as she broke away, turning wildly to find the source, still half trapped between his arms and the alley wall. A group of teenagers she recognized from class had gathered around the mouth of the alley. They were holding out their phones and cameras, flashes lighting the air. Swollen lipped and red faced, Brienne turned back to look at Hyle, desperately hoping it was a mistake, that he had nothing to do with the laughing mob. He wasn't looking at her.

"C'mon guys!" He grinned, "you spoiled the moment. Five more minutes and I could have had her pants undone. Pay up." The laughing turned into grumbles as the teenagers dug out their wallets.

"This... this was a bet?" Brienne gasped, lungs constricting in her chest as her lunch lurched sickeningly inside of her stomach.

"No hard feelings, doll." Hyle winked at her. "Every new girl gets it, and you were easy money. I knew I could get you in the end. It's not like I had much competition either; I mean, no offence, but you're not exactly hot material. Most guys didn't need the money _that _bad."

His words buzzed around her head like bees, stinging. She reacted without thinking, pulling back the fist that had clenched at her side and smashing it into his face with all her not-inconsiderable strength. He crumpled, the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking echoed across the alleyway as the mob of seniors scattered fearfully.

She'd been suspended for a week, but it had been worth it for the satisfaction of that moment. She vowed never to let it happen again; the tears, the pain, having to see his stupid face for the rest of the year. He had been a constant reminder of how stupid and unlovable she was, and she had steeled her heart against him - against all men. And here she was now, going through it all over again with Jaime.

"This _is_ different to what happened with _him,_" Brienne darkly told her friends. "I haven't broken the Kingslayer's nose yet."

"I'm willing to help with that," Arya offered, Sansa shushing her immediately.

"Brienne, are you sure that's what Jaime meant?" Sansa looked stricken at the idea of it, having witnessed the man's affection for her friend first hand. "What did he say – _exactly_?"

"Gods, I don't know." Brienne hunched over, tugging calloused fingers through her hair and squeezing her eyes shut. "It all happened so fast."

"Try," Margaery urged. She was one step away from grabbing a pen and note pad to capture the moment for future study, "from the beginning."

"We were by the piano, we'd had a few beers and he was playing that song I've been working on… but he messed up and it was kind of funny I guess and then..."

"Then there was kissing?" Sansa filled in for her querulously, Brienne nodded ever so slightly in reply.

"Can you describe that part in more detail?" Margaery asked sweetly, getting an elbow in the ribs for her troubles from Sansa. "Or not."

"And then he said something about knowing how I'd 'come around' and about how he'd 'get me in the end'." Brienne felt her voice thicken with rage and un-shed tears. She snapped her mouth shut, channelling her sadness into anger even as she wondered why it hurt so much.

"Not to play devil's advocate here, Bri, but that isn't the most... incriminating thing he could have said," Sansa hedged gently. "What did he do when you went to leave?"

"He kinda... gaped at a bit. He said it wasn't like that." She muttered, confusion pounding in her head.

"And you don't think he was telling the truth?" Margaery asked quietly.

"I don't know," Brienne admitted, staring unseeingly at the bed covers. "He had to be lying. Why else would he..."

She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence before Sansa hurled herself across the space between them, enveloping Brienne in a hug that left it hard for her to breath. "Don't you, _ever,_ think like that!" The ginger girl squeaked as she held her in a vice grip, "you are an incredible woman and I think Jaime probably has the capacity to appreciate that more than most. And if he doesn't he's a fool."

"She's right, Brienne," Margaery patted her shoulder sympathetically. "I've told you time and again, you're dynamite. He just wants to light the fuse, and who can blame him!"

"You're too good for him," was Arya's two cents.

There was a knock at the door, hesitant but loud. The girls sprang apart, Brienne's eyes focusing on the wood as if she could burn through it with the heat of her gaze alone. "It's him." She said firmly.

"How do you know that?" Margaery asked, excitement lighting her features as she craned her neck at the door.

"My douche bag sense is tingling." She mumbled half-heartedly, already half way to forgiving him. Her heart leaping to agree with her friends even as her head tried to tell her she was being an idiot. Why would anyone like Jaime want a girl like her?

"What should we do?" Sansa squeaked as the knock came again, more urgent this time.

"I got this guys," Arya answered, cracking her knuckles and heading for the door as Brienne rolled off the bed, ducking out of sight from the door behind it.

Jaime had fucked up. That much was evident. One minute they'd been sucking face and the next she was running out of the room like he'd pulled a gun on her, and it had definitely not been a gun in his pocket. Struggling desperately to work out where he'd gone wrong, he'd tracked her down to her hotel room. It had taken three threatening texts to Tyrion, and one full of abject sorrow and repentance, to get the room number from him but Jaime had gotten there at last.

Raising his hand to knock again he jumped back when, instead of the six foot three Amazon he'd been expecting, the door was instead opened by the shortest and arguably most dangerous member of Oathkeeper. He swallowed hard when he saw she was cracking her knuckles, an evil glint in her eyes.

"What do you want, Kingslayer?" Arya asked, holding the door open just wide enough to peer through and effectively barring any thoughts he might have had for entering.

"Is Brienne here?" Jaime asked, shifting nervously from foot to foot as he searched the limited view of the room he had for her familiar form, "I need to talk to her."

"And why would you think I would let you do that?" Shooting a glance at someone he couldn't see she stepped out into the hallway and closed the door sharply behind her. Fixing him with a glare that would have looked better on a pro wrestler than the miniature drummer she asked, "what are your intentions towards Brienne?"

He quirked an eyebrow, a smile beginning to widen his mouth "Seriously?"

"Do I look like I'm fucking joking?" She didn't. He was starting to worry about just how much shit he could get in to.

"No, not at all. Apologies." He tried again, attempting his most winning smile. "I just want to talk to her. We have things that need discussing. So, Can I?"

"Maybe you can. Maybe you can't." Arya crossed her arms over her chest, wiry strength outlined in every muscle. "Maybe she doesn't want to see you."

"I just want to explain-"

"Listen up, blondie," Arya cut him off, moving lightning fast to jab a finger into his chest. "I don't know what your game is, but you seem like an alright guy. Brienne likes you and that's all I really care about. However, if you hurt her in any way – emotionally, physically or mentally, if she gets so much as a paper cut with you to blame for it... I will kill you. And no one will ever, _ever _find the body."

"Right then," Jaime felt cold sweat beading on his brow at the conviction in the she-wolf's voice. He wanted to laugh but at the same time thought that doubting her in any way would end very badly for him. "Can I...?" He gestured to the door behind her and the woman he knew was in the room behind it.

Arya gave him a suspicious look, backing up a few paces and executing a complicated knock on the door. It cracked open ever so slightly and a whispered conversation ensued. Jaime tried not to look like he was eavesdropping as he strained desperately to hear the muffled whispers. With a sharp nod the door swung open wider, allowing Arya to re-enter the room and Brienne to step out. His breath caught when he saw her. She was a little more rumpled than he remembered, a smug part of him willing to take full credit for that. Her full lips were still pink and kiss-swollen from his earlier attentions. The light from the room behind her haloed her short hair, the gel she wore on stage now utterly worn out as it curled about her face in stylish tangles. The thick black eyeliner now worn and smudged in a way that made him uneasy as to just how badly he'd messed up. She still looked like a warrior goddess incarnate.

"Brienne," he breathed her name like a prayer, trying to remember the speech he'd prepared on the way over.

"Jaime," she replied, looking just as suspicious as her band mate had done seconds before. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to apologize." He took a deep breath and let the rest of it out in a rush, all of his planning going out of the window as he stumbled over his words trying to tell her how he felt. "If I went to fast or if I did something you weren't – aren't comfortable with, I'm sorry." He couldn't pull his gaze from the sapphires of her eyes as he spilled the truth. "You're the most infuriating, complicated, incredible woman I've ever met and if you don't... if you don't feel _that _way or want, y'know, _that _kind of relationship with me, that's cool. I get it. I just – I don't want to lose you even as a friend, because you somehow became my best friend. Which is weird, 'cause that's never really happened to me before. And I get that maybe you don't feel the way about me as I do about you-"

Brienne covered his mouth with a hand, her face getting redder as the speech went on. Anger and anxiety morphed into butterflies in her chest as he lost any element of cool he might once have possessed during his rambling monologue. "And... how do you feel about me exactly, Jaime?"

"You make me want to be a better man." Honesty shone in his liquid green eyes, frank and unassuming as he bared his soul to her. She wondered how she could have been so wrong about him just moments before, "the kind of man who could deserve you."

"I-" She opened her mouth to say something in reply, anything, but it seemed her mind had gone entirely blank on her. Pulling every shred of bravery she'd ever had she took two brisk steps forward and pressed her lips to his, saying silently with her kiss everything she couldn't say aloud.

"I take it that means you don't hate me completely, then?" Jaime laughed as they pulled apart, fingers running through her short hair.

"Stop killing the moment, idiot."

"Anything you say, Wench."

The Jurassic Park worthy shriek of joy from inside the hotel room told Brienne that Margaery had discovered the door's peep hole.

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((I'm afraid our sponsors haven't been able to provide a reviewing incentive this week, they're currently not talking to me due to the fact updates look like they might be going from once a week to once a fortnight for the next few months ^^; Don't hate me? 3)


	14. Chapter 14: On Set

(( Hello again! This chapter I'm sending the usual big thanks to Ides for beta'ing and generally being awesome! Special thanks to every one who reviewd and faved and generally was willing to stick around for updates (only a day late this time!) I can't believe some of the wonderful things you've posted, it really inspires me to know I have such wonderful readers!

More thanks; mega thanks go to GoldenCave for drawing some amazing (and hilarious) pictures for the fic and for Smoucan for drawing more gorgeous artwork inspired by this (not so inspiring) tale! Also to Elfogadunk for making some awesome graphics! I try and keep a record of them all over on the Battle of the Bands section of my tumblr (snowfright-sketches) so go and check them out and give the artists some love 3 ))

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Three members of Oathkeeper, their manager, and their stylist sat around the breakfast table in the Oathkeeper tour bus. The bus was trundling towards its destination in Cider Hall, just two days after leaving Grassy Vale, it was early morning and sunlight light dappled the country side golden as the bus rolled past. The trees were showing the very first sign of autumn colour. Not that anyone at the table noticed. They were far too busy discussing their missing band member and her guest.

"I still don't know why the Kingslayer keeps hanging around here. He has his own bus after all," Catelyn muttered darkly into her coffee. She was still deeply suspicious of the headlining act who'd taken such an interest in her girls, one of them more specifically than the others.

"I'll give you three clues," Margaery grinned, proving she could multi-task as she manicured her nails and gossiped with equal aplomb. "She's tall, plays guitar, and her name starts with a 'B'."

"Yes, but why is _she_ tolerating _him_?" Catelyn, threw her hands up in disbelief, thrown by her charges seemingly out of character behaviour. "It's so odd."

"Not as odd as Sansa spending all her free time with a dude who calls himself, 'The Hound.'" Arya muttered, apparently not as engrossed with her DS as she seemed. "You're all freaks."

"Oh yes, that is coming from little Miss Boy Gang," Sansa shot back, blushing. She was as astounded, as always, at how casually her sister could throw her under the bus. "Not to mention the fact your always texting, 'The Faceless Man.'"

"No." Catelyn crossed her arms with a note of finality, "No one on this tour bus will be dating _anyone _with a pseudonym. I won't have it." She looked between her daughters as if daring them to contradict her, "and that's the end of that."

"I think it's a bit late for that, Cat," Margaery sing-songed triumphantly as the sound of laughter echoed through the partition at the back of the bus. The group turned as one to gaze at the door; Ros looked curious, Sansa wistful, Arya scrunched her nose in distasteful acceptance, Catelyn was flat out glaring and, from the corner of the table, Margaery was chuckling with dark glee. The laughter rose like a wave, mimicking the very best of Bond villains and evil scientists. She was cut off mid-'mwhaha' when Arya threw a skittle into her mouth and Margaery started choking, rather ruining the effect.

"Hey-hey, you-you, I don't like your girlfriend," Jaime sang along with the TV, wonderfully out of tune for a world famous musician, something that Brienne didn't hesitate to point out. She looked down at where he had sprawled across her lap on the tour buses sofa, having decided to spend yet another morning lounging around their bus instead of his own as they crossed the last few miles towards the hotel.

"Stop it, you're making this song worse." She jabbed him until he changed the channel, continuing with a studied graveness. "And in the context of that song, you would be my girlfriend."

"And I'm the best girlfriend ever," he agreed cheerfully, primping his golden hair with style. "Does that make you my boyfriend?" He asked her with feigned earnestness, practically batting his sinfully long eye lashes at her.

"According to the magazine article Margaery was reading yesterday I'm your undercover bodyguard," she replied with a snort.

"_Bodyguard_, you say?" He gave her a sly look and cleared his throat before wailing "ANNND IIIIIIIII-EEEE-AIIII WILL ALW-" Brienne shoved a hand over his mouth, effectively silencing Jaime's caterwauling. He retaliated by licking her palm.

"So, are we supposed to act all lovey-dovey now?" Brienne asked with a thin glaze of humour as she pulled her hand away, rubbing it on his cashmere sweater without a second thought.

"Brienne, if you were to start acting 'lovey-dovey' I would be actively concerned for your mental health," he told her frankly, flicking through the TV channels again. "We're going out, not getting personality transplants."

"Oh, good, so you won't be embarrassing me in public then with any gratuitous PDA." She sighed in relief. Her relief was to be short lived if the leonine smile that curved his features as he looked up at her was to be any indication.

"I said we're _not _getting personality transplants, remember?" He ran a finger up her arm and she cursed at how easily he could distract her with one lousy finger. _Imagine what he could do with more, _an inner voice that sounded dangerously like Margaery goaded her, causing Brienne to flush brightly. "I do so love watching your reactions." His distracting purr was cut off when his own name came from the TV. He dropped his hand, causing Brienne to sigh in a mixture of relief and disappointment as he turned up the volume.

_"In other celebrity news; our source from inside the Reach leg of the Kingslayer tour has confirmed that the Kingslayer, birth name Jaime Lannister, is officially dating lanky Oathkeeper guitarist Brienne Tarth. The pair, who have been seen together frequently over the tours run so far, were said to have hooked up at an after concert party and are now a confirmed item."_

"It's been like... two days, how do they even know that?" Brienne asked in shock at the matter of fact news reader, scowling a little at the adjective they'd seen fit to give her. Still it was better than some of the other choice phrases that had been bestowed up on her; 'bulky,' 'giant,' and 'over-sized' were the ones that sprung to mind.

"Well I guess it's out, everyone knows we're dating," Jaime sighed happily, pulling out his phone. "Guess this means I can update my Facebook status."

"Don't be a teenage girl." She smacked the phone out of his hand, "And... we're not technically dating anyway, Jaime."

He froze. "Wait, what?" He looked up in shocked disappointment and Brienne could read the beginnings of a fight in the lines of his eyes. "No take backsies!"

"Well, we haven't been out on any actual dates," she countered him smugly, enjoying being the one to throw him off balance for a change. "So we can't exactly be described as dating, now can we?"

"What about the day at that sea life park?" He pointed out gravely. He would have looked more imposing if he hadn't been horizontal and making his point from her lap. "I think we can all agree that was the best date ever."

"That was before our relationship progressed to the 'dating' applicable stage," she said evasively, waving a hand at the notion. "It doesn't count."

"Well, we have the next three days off. Buckle up wench, I'm gonna date the hell out of you." He set his jaw firmly, pulling himself into a vaguely upright position and turning towards her.

"No, you're not," she countered, peering out of the window behind her as they rolled into the hotel parking lot.

"How come?" He wrapped a possessive arm about her shoulders, aiming a look at her that was the perfectly practised combination of puppy dog eyes and smoulder. "Don't you want to spend three days of whirlwind excitement with me?"

"Do you, literally, read anything Tyrion sends you?" She flicked him between the eyes, knocking the expression off his face as she sighed in exasperation. "Oathkeeper has to film the video for our next single. The management didn't expect Maiden's Fall to do so well and they want to cash in on the back of it as soon as possible. We've only got three days of studio time."

"That's terrible," he pouted, thinking of his own solitude rather than her success. "I know! I'll come with you."

"No, you won't." Jumping up from the seat, she ruffled his golden hair like one might a child or a favourite pet. "See you later."

"You have to go now?" He called, undignified, from where she had left him on the couch, snagging her arm before she could open the partition and pulling her back to him. "No way, you're not leaving here without paying the fee."

"And what's the fee?" She asked breathlessly as she landed next to him on the sofa, half pinned underneath him on the still-warm leather.

"What do you think?" He asked teasingly before pulling her more firmly into his arms. Jaime kissed her then. It was the long, lingering sort of kiss that had fire spreading through her veins and her heart pounding in her chest. For one beautiful moment she forgot the time, the place, her own anxieties, it was all swept away by the fierce pressure of his lips against hers. After the Hyle incident, she had steered clear of romance. But she had still attended the same teenage parties as her friends and made the same bad drinking decisions, and subsequent bad kissing decisions. She could count the number on one hand though, and all of them had been cold, wet kisses that left her equally as frosty. Jaime was a revelation.

"Sure you don't want me tagging along?" He murmured against the seam of her mouth, tongue flicking out to taste her bottom lip in a way that had her mind turning to mush. She took a steadying breath, steeling her resolve against the kisses he moved to press against her jaw line.

"I'm certain," she whispered back, holding back a smile of her own as she pushed him away. Untangling herself from his arms, she straightened her rumpled shirt and moved away from him. She paused deliberately at the door, looking back over her shoulder in a way that would have made Margaery proud. "You are far too distracting."

The cars that had been sent to ferry them back and forth from the hotel to the studio were too small to hold the entire band, so Brienne sent the rest of the girls on ahead with Catelyn and ducked into the second car with Ros in the hopes of getting her nerves back in shape after Jaime's kisses. She was hoping it would get easier as time went on. Ros gave her a knowing smile and handed her one of the multitude of lip balms she kept in her hand bag without comment.

They arrived late, the rest of the band were already inside as the car pulled up in front of the tall, metal-fronted building. Brienne waved the car away as the door shut behind her, Ros already jogging ahead to catch up with the rest of the make-up team she'd be working with. Shading her eyes from the sun, Brienne took a moment to enjoy the light breeze and relative quiet of the studio forecourt. Steeling herself for the day ahead, she straightened her back and set out determinately towards the studio doors, only to stop in her tracks two seconds later as someone called out to her.

"Well, well, well, if isn't the Beautiful Brienne." The voice echoed across the parking lot. She turned on her heel, instantly stiffening at the old nickname before a familiar face walked into view.

"Loras!" She cried, recognizing the slender brunette strutting his way across the tarmac towards her. "What in the seven hells are you doing here? I didn't think we'd be seeing you until we got to High Garden."

"I'm off to Kings Landing next week to preview my new collection," he linked an arm through Brienne's, sipping nonchalantly on his venti mochaccino as if he'd was catching up with her after being apart for hours, not the months it had been since they'd seen him last. "So it was now or never, babe. Plus, someone needs to make sure that wardrobe department doesn't completely fuck up your look on this shoot. D'you remember at prom when Sansa almost wore pink?" He pulled a face, "travesty."

Brienne laughed aloud, the _other_ Tyrell was just as opinionated as his sister and just as perfectly dressed. From his skinny jeans to his sage green scarf, he was impeccable, not one chestnut coloured hair out of place. Still, she would have expected nothing less from the enfant terrible of the Westerosi fashion world. "Speaking of the girls, has Margaery seen you yet?"

"Nooo, it's a surprise." He smirked, pushing open the studio door and ushering her through with a courtly bow.

"LORAS YOU BASTARDING EVIL SON OF A BITCH!" Half the crew turned around at the screech that echoed throughout the studio's hallways.

"Nice to see you too, sis," Loras was silenced as his sister threw herself at him, seizing him in a rib-cracking embrace.

"Why didn't you tell me you we're going to be here?" Margaery demanded, backing off long enough to punch her brother firmly in the shoulder, "you ass."

"Surprise!" He offered as the only means of explanation, shrugging his shoulders and grinning cattily at the band.

"It's lovely to see you again, Loras," Sansa greeted their old friend, giving him a much more sedate hug before Arya high-fived him.

"Sansa, you look stunning, dear. Love that hair cut on you." Loras air kissed her. "Arya, that shirt is a hot mess."

"Bite me, Tyrell," she snapped back good-naturedly.

"I've missed that not always being aimed at me," Margaery sighed wistfully, ruffling the younger Stark's hair and nearly getting her hand taken off in the process.

"So what's the plan for this video anyway?" Loras asked as the specially hired make-up team took over under the watchful eye of Ros, pushing the band into chairs and breaking out the powder. "No one bothered to tell me."

"We're battling the evil version of ourselves," Arya beamed, upsetting her make-up artist with the movement. "We're locked up in this castle by them, about to be burned as witches or something, and we break free and mess shit up!"

"And what are you wearing, whilst doing all this?" Loras asked speculatively, a haggard looking wardrobe mistress turning in disgust and gesturing towards a rack of costumes. "Thanks," he said with sweet sarcasm as he thumbed through the choices. "Ugh, is this the evil wear? Tacky. No one but my slut of a sister is going to agree to wear one of these things." He held a metal bikini out for their inspection.

"Thanks, bro," Margaery replied sweetly before retouching her lip gloss when her make-up artist turned away. The other band members shuddered in revulsion at the sight of the impractical metal underwear. Ignoring them, Loras went back to perusing the studio's costumes, casting hanger after hanger of outfits aside as he went, before settling on a handful of pieces.

"A long dress for Sansa, our warrior maiden," he said, rearranging the costume rack to suit his idea. "We'll need a shorter dress for Margaery, the armoured skank. Tunic and shorts for Arya," he continued, undeterred by his sister's huff, "the tiny hell cat, and leggings with a corset for Brienne, the Valkyrie. Now let me do your good versions...oh yes, we can do something similar in lighter colours."

"The accessories can't change," the wardrobe mistress snapped over the excited coos of Oathkeeper at their new and improved looks. "They've been approved by the producers, don't touch them."

Loras rolled his eyes when she looked away and grinned, "So, what's up first then?"

"We're doing the 'good' shoot first. It's all on green screens apparently, with partial sets." Sansa answered him, straightening her hair nervously in the giant mirror. As the lead singer she would be the focus of the video. "It's a lot more professional than the Maiden's Fall video, that's for sure."

"What song is this even for?" Loras asked, snagging a copy of the treatment and time schedule that had been left on the side and flicking through it, "Oh, I like that one."

"They want it to be our next single," Margaery enthused, "Wait till you hear some of the stuff we've come up with for the next album though. Brienne's got this one song, 'Never Look Back,' you're gonna straight up jam too."

"Shit," Brienne swore. It had been two days since the after party where she'd had her notebook last. The notebook that contained the only versions of those songs she had. What with all the kissing, crying, and, well, more kissing, she'd completely forgotten about it. "Shit-shit-shit." Digging her phone from her bag and well and truly pissing off the make-up artist who had been assigned to the herculean task of making her screen beautiful, or at least screen acceptable, she hit the speed dial.

"Who is she calling?" She heard Loras ask in the background before the line picked up.

"Jaime?" She cut off his greeting, palms sweating as she grasped the phone, "hey, yeah, it's all going fine. I just wanted to ask – did you pick up my notebook from the bar the other day? When…y'know," she felt her face flush at the memory despite the worry that gnawed her gut, she lowered her tone, "when we, um...we were playing the songs from it."

Loras' interest seemed to be piqued, Brienne noticed him leaning forward in her peripheral vision. Margaery was undoubtedly telling an exaggerated version of events through the medium of hand gestures and meaningful looks.

"Damn it, I didn't. I didn't even realize." Jaime admitted from the other end of the phone, she could almost see him face palming over it, "don't worry though I'll call the bar now."

"Is that okay? I mean, if you're busy I'll do it in between takes..." Brienne gnawed on her bottom lip, undoing five minutes of careful painting with her anxiety.

"Bri-ennnne, it's not a problem." He dragged out her name in a way that told her better than to argue with him, "concentrate on your music video, wench. And make sure to get pics of whatever hilariously scanty outfit they've got you in."

"How did you know about that?" She hissed, her face flaming further as her eyes darted to the metal bikinis that had been discarded on the side. "If I found out you had anything to do with this-"

"Calm down, its standard." She could hear the grin in his tone of voice, "You should see the video to my third single. They had to cut me out of those trousers."

Brienne swallowed hard, "well, that's very – yes." She inhaled deeply to regain her composure at that particular mental image. "But we have Loras! Loras totally fixed the wardrobe department for us. So none," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "of those types of pictures for you."

"Who's Loras? Is she your new make-up girl?" An edge of suspicion crept into his tone and Brienne grabbed at it, determined to get the ball back into her court after his successful attempt at making her blush by the sound of his voice alone.

"_He's _an old friend from Winterfell. He's come to visit us on set." Before Jaime could protest, or say anything for that matter, an assistant was calling for them to all hurry up. Filming, it seemed, was about to begin. "Sorry, we're about to start. If you could call that bar though, I really appreciate it."

"I'm right on it. Call me when you finish up?"

"Okay, bye, Jaime." She hung up the phone and turned back to the group only to find them all leaning dangerously forward in their seats to eavesdrop in.

"Who's Jaime?" Loras asked. The wicked glint in his eyes made him look far too much like his sister.

"Her boyfriend," Margaery answered slyly before Brienne could even open her mouth. "Jaime Lannister, aka _Kingslayer._"

"No. Way." Loras gasped, "I mean, I heart the rumours, but I didn't think they were true. Who knew you had it in you Brienne!"

She said nothing, her silence as good as an admission as the wardrobe department finally had enough of their chatting and moved in to hustle the band into their costumes.

They didn't break for lunch until three, and even then it was a hurried affair. Hours had passed in a blur of activity. The set was crowded with people; the director, the producers, camera men, make-up artists. There was even a lip-syncing coach to help them better form their vowels and an acting coach to correct their movements. Prop assistants and lighting technicians competed with sound guys and gaffers for space. Not to mention the dozens of extras in medieval peasant wear in the holding room, waiting to be called for the afternoon shoot. The fighting choreographer almost had a joygasm when he found out that not only did all four members of the band have some training with self-defence, but that Arya was a certified kick boxing champion and Brienne had a brown belt in Karate. Performing under all those eyes had been terrifying at first, but the nerves faded quickly under the burning hot lights as they were rushed through shot after shot. Their song was playing on a loop as scenes were explained and directed in lightning fast succession.

The strangest moment had been when their body doubles turned up half way through the morning, dressed in the outfits Loras had chosen for their 'evil' alter egos. They were exact down to the make-up and tiniest detail, each chosen specifically to emulate the girl's heights and shapes and facial structure. No one had the heart to mention the fact that Brienne's double was a man in drag. A very attractive man, granted, with great cheekbones and perfect nails, but a man never the less. She just shook his hand kindly and told him how much better he looked in her heels than she did. By the end of the day everyone was just about ready to crash where they stood, it had been an endless procession of takes and retakes as the band fought their way out of an imaginary castle against a green screen wall. The real sun had already set when they limped out of the studio. The first thing Brienne did was check her phone.

"I'll catch up in a sec," she waved her friends ahead of her, pausing just outside the door as she dialled, trying to ignore the happy little flutter that mixed with her nerves as the phone rang. "Hey, Jaime."

"Brienne, long day?" His voice was warm honey in her ear and despite only having seen him that morning, she found herself missing him anyway.

"It was ridiculous – you should have seen the stuff they made us do. I hope they have a good editor." She huffed, curling herself around her handset and closing her eyes. "Did you get a chance to call that bar?"

"They haven't found it, but they promised to call all the employees that worked that night and see if anyone has seen it."

"Oh." She tried not to let her disappointment seep into her tone too much, "Thanks anyway, Jaime."

"Are you coming back now?"

"Just about to," she picked at a loose thread on her jeans.

"I'm in room 619, come up when you get in."

"Jaime, I-" She stuttered, face flushing. He must have known from the dark chuckle that slid down the line to her, rubbing along her spine like velvet as her heart beat double time.

"Brienne, it took me a good few months to be able to kiss you without receiving grievously body harm for it. Don't worry, your honour is safe." She could hear his smile, her face colouring even more, "for now. Trust me, you will know when it's in danger, I-"

"Jaime!" She hissed, shooting a panicked look across the parking lot in case her overly interested friends where eavesdropping again. "Ix-nay on the anger-day," she whispered.

Another wicked laugh rolled down the line, "just come up and see me, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed breathlessly, her heart still racing in her breast.

"See you soon. Don't worry, I won't tire you out too much before tomorrow."

"Jaime!" He'd already hung up. She took a calming breath and walked towards the waiting cars and the rapt attention of her friends.

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((Well it looks like we've lured our sponsors back! Huzzah! This week, as a very special prize, they will be offering up the chance to win the screen-used copper bracelets, as worn by Sansa Stark, that are featured in Oathkeeper's upcoming music video! The competition is open to mainland Westerosi residents only, entrants must be over 16 to enter and have a valid Westerosi license or other form of I.D. Further entry details can be found on the official Oathkeeper website.))


	15. Chapter 15: Off Set

((Look look! I updated when I said I would! This has got to call for some sort of celebration :D The song in this chapter is a badly rewritten version of The Pretty Reckless's 'Just Tonight' so give that a listen if you want :-)

Big thanks to Ides, my beta, I still can't thank you enough for putting up with me- You actual star! 3 More thanks to reviewers, favers, people who draw and make edits and are generally amazing, people who tumblr me and you silent readers who I never get a chance to hear from. I love you all more than you'll know! ~ Now on with the show!))

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Margaery's face lit up like a Christmas tree when Brienne pressed the button for the top floor after entering the hotel elevator. The small space was packed with all four band members and Loras, who'd also snagged a room at the exclusive establishment. Sansa looked confused when the sixth floor button lit up red, turning to Brienne is surprise. "I thought they gave you room 411, next to us, B?"

Brienne focused on the smooth gold panel of numbers and kept her voice impassive, "I just need to talk to Jaime about something."

"Aww, don't blush sweetie," Margaery cajoled, wrapping an arm around the tall girl and thus directly causing her to blush. "You can go snuggle with your boyfriend, we won't tell Catelyn."

"And by snuggle," Loras added helpfully, reaching up to smooth Brienne's flyaway hair, "she means bang the shit out of." The elevator pinged open on the second floor as he spoke, where his own room was located. "Have fun my Beautiful Brienne. See you bright and early tomorrow." He exited with a devilish wink in her direction.

Brienne could barely form a sentence by the time she reached the exclusive top level of the hotel. Her band mates had been dropped off on their floor, but not before squeezing as many embarrassing comments as they could muster in the short ride up. It was almost enough to give her a nosebleed. Her friend's suggestions for the evening's activities were still playing in her mind as she stepped out into the hushed corridor, stopping briefly at one of the gilded mirrors that lined the walls and attempting to straighten out her appearance.

Jaime had told her that her honour was safe with him, and she believed him, but still, spending the evening with him alone in his hotel room was a nerve-wracking thought. What if he had planned something ridiculously romantic? She was worn-out from the shoot, bone-tired and badly-dressed, and hardly the most normal person at dealing with romantic encounters at the best of times. Roses and candlelight weren't exactly her forte, especially not in her current state of discombobulation. Shaking off her thoughts, she took a deep calming breath and stepped away from the mirror, giving up on her attempt to make herself look halfway decent as a lost cause. Determined not to let her nerves get the better of her, she straightened her shoulders and walked straight up to room 619. It was only Jaime after all; annoying, irritating, childish, wonderful, handsome, heart-stopping Jaime. She rapped smartly on the door before she had a chance to change her mind.

"There you are," the door swung open not ten seconds later, revealing one of the fanciest rooms Brienne had seen, yet half obscured by the magnificent idiot himself. "I thought you'd gotten lost! I was about to put an ad on craigslist for your replacement." He told her in his teasingly serious way, one eyebrow rising. "Handsome Rockstar seeks single female for friendship, maybe more. Applicants must be really, really tall."

"Good luck finding another woman over six feet who'd tolerate you," she shot back automatically, folding her arms and leaning in his doorway as her previous nervousness was forgotten.

"Applicants must also be snarky and charmingly defensive," he continued with a smirk, before darting forward faster than she could see and stealing a kiss before she could respond. Her mind blanked under the assault on her senses and Jaime seized the opportunity to pull her into the room, eliciting an ungainly squeak from her. "Bonus points if they make that noise," he added under his breath as he kicked the door shut with one foot and towed her across the room.

The palatial quarters were decked out in cream damask and gold filigree, dainty furniture and understated lighting. The look of it all was rather ruined by the mess of clothing and paper that was strewn across it. A pile of instruction sheets and packaging half covered the plush beige rug that took up most of the floor space. Brienne took a moment to regain her equilibrium. It seemed she needn't have worried about him planning anything outlandishly romantic or uncomfortable.

"I ordered room service," Jaime pointed out matter-of-factly as he fell fluidly down onto the rug and pressed a button on the expensive new tablet computer in front of him. The coffee table was piled high with covered silver dishes.

"If its oysters and champagne I'm leaving now," she told him as sternly as she could even as her stomach gave a telling rumble.

"Club sandwich, no mayo," he said smugly without looking up, earning a small smile from Brienne as she uncovered her personal favourite choice of sandwich.

Plate in hand she folded herself neatly onto the carpet in front of Jaime, "what's so important that you had to drag me up here now then, Penthouse?"

Tearing his attention from the machine in front of him, he looked up with a smile she hadn't seen before; whilst still mostly comprised of his usual confidence there was the smallest hint of insecurity in his features. "Okay, so after the admittedly unhelpful news from the bar about your notebook - I had a thought!"

"Did it hurt? Was it lonely?" She asked cheerfully, through a mouthful of sandwich, before she could stop herself. He had a permanent effect on her snark reflex it seemed.

"Oh my sides, they're splitting!" Jaime laughed, before lowering his eyes a little. She thought if he had been standing he would have been scuffing his toe, and he would have looked ridiculously adorable doing it. "I thought - just in case they can't find your notebook tomorrow, we should try and record as many as your ideas as you can remember. Like as a back-up." He grabbed one of the acoustic guitars that were discarded behind him as he spoke and passed it to her. "I got Tyrion to show me how this blasted machine worked today. It'll record them, notarise them or whatever, and then you can edit the written files separately after. It also, apparently, has a text function to note down anything you didn't have a tune for." He held the slim line tablet out to her. She took it in her suddenly trembling hands. "And it automatically backs up to a secure online server so if you lose it or it breaks or anything you won't lose you're music." Even with his casual tone she could see the shadow of worry underneath, as if he were unsure how the gift would be received. "You- you don't have to record them here though, if you don't want to. I just thought I could maybe show you how it works?"

He ended his explanation with a winning smile, his eyes searching for her reaction. Brienne felt a lump in her throat that had nothing to do with the sandwich, her fingers tightening around the cold metal. He'd obviously spent all day figuring the technology out and getting it ready for her, if the mess was any indication. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her. First he took her to see the dolphins, and now he did this. She felt like an idiot for thinking that he'd force a faux-romantic date on her when he could do something this truly caring for her instead. Stupid, perfect man.

"Jaime," she said softly, trying to find the words for what she was feeling and coming up short. Knowing her favourite sandwich had been impressive enough, this had her eyes misting up in a distinctly un-Brienne-ish sort of way.

"I know it's not the same as your notebook and you don't have to use it at all if you don't want..." He rambled, mistaking her emotion for hesitation. "I mean, not everyone likes writing stuff on a screen right? You can always just play Angry Birds on it-"

"Thank you, Jaime. It's perfect." It wasn't a particularly eloquent or original reply but she meant every word of it and knew he could tell from the way his face brightened, his insecurity turning into self-satisfaction in a heartbeat as his smile stretched into a familiar grin.

"Well, did you expect anything less than perfect from me?" He said in the husky tone he reserved exclusively for making her blush. "I think you'll particularly enjoy the background image I set for you, wench."

She scrunched her eyes at him in a half-glare, one that was totally undermined by her smile, as she prodded the screen awake and saw the ridiculously posed selfie he'd set as the home screen, complete with floppy golden hair and smouldering green eyes. Clearing her throat she scooted closer to him, carefully avoiding the small drift of paper that separated them. Handing the tablet computer back to him she pulled the guitar into her lap.

"Go on then clever clogs," she elbowed him, giving him a lightning fast kiss at the same time, "show me how it works, then."

Brienne was lucky she had a good memory for music. Together they recorded the entire contents of her notebook. There were maybe six songs in a mostly finished format, but dozens of others that were nothing more than odd choruses, and incomplete parts of melodies and pieces of lyrics. Time slipped away as they sat next to each other on the floor, playing music and having to re-record at least half of everything from laughing. Jaime helped where he could, joked where he couldn't, and even added a phrase or two here or a sequence of notes there that fit beautifully with Brienne's original ideas. Before they noticed three hours had passed and the hands of the clock were heading quickly for midnight.

"Any more?" Jaime asked as they wrapped up a silly little jingle Brienne had written two years before and nearly forgotten, "or have we got them all?"

"I think that's..." She faltered suddenly. There _was_ another song. The last song in her notebook, stuck in the back pages, torn from an earlier tome and hidden there. It was smudged, ink-stained and tear-splattered, and kept in the furthest reaches of the book, never to be looked at. She had hidden it just before the back, where she kept the creased remains of the various bits of paper and the itineraries Catelyn was always handing out or the odd leaflet she sometimes wound up with. The song was never played, or spoken of.

Jaime seemed to notice her hesitancy, pausing over the tablet to look up at her, "Brienne?"

"There is," she hesitated again, torn between letting that particular chapter of her life die, lost along with that notebook, or admitting to it. Taking a steadying breath she met Jaime's perfect green eyes and made the decision. Like it or not, it had happened and she couldn't erase it now. It had made her stronger in the end after all. "There's one more song."

"Okay." Reading her uncertainty, he quickly set up a new file, hovering his finger over the record button. "Whenever you're ready.

"Track thirty-four, complete," she said for the microphones benefit. "From Tonight-brackets- You Didn't Destroy Me."

Closing her eyes and letting her fingers find the chords automatically, she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Reading the words off of the inside of her eyelids, she counted down from three and began to play.

"Here I am, the scales are gone, they've fallen from my eyes.

I thought you felt so much like home.

Here I am, feeling a fool as I comprehend your lies.

You will laugh but I won't cry.."

She hated how she could still hear it, the laughter from that crowd. The walls of the alleyway closing in and that dreadful laughter as Hyle tore her self-esteem apart. Bracing herself she launched into the chorus, letting the images fade from her mind. She let her sadness become anger, self-righteous and final.

"From tonight, you will feel,

That the pain you caused was real

From tonight, you will see,

That you didn't destroy me.

And when I, I am through,

I'll think no more of you.

From tonight.

But here I am, and I can't seem to see straight.

Hollowed out, empty inside.

And here I am, watching you burn my city to the ground

You may laugh but I won't cry."

She vowed she wouldn't cry, not for that man, not ever again. Finding her strength in thoughts of her success, in friendships and green eyes, she dug a hole with her voice and buried Hyle Hunt in it with each phrase.

"You don't understand who I am

You don't get to say

I was nothing but a game to you

Well, I don't want to play.

From tonight, I won't wish

That you really meant that kiss.

From tonight, I won't delay

'Cause I'm gonna be okay.

From tonight, you will feel

That the pain you caused was real

From tonight, you will see

That you didn't destroy me.

And when I, I am through

I'll think no more of you.

From tonight."

By the time the song drew itself to a close Brienne felt like she'd run a marathon. She lived every second of that dreadful afternoon, felt every awkward moment that followed it through the magnifying glass of her memories, and yet somehow, despite it all, when the song finished it didn't hurt any more. For the first time since writing it, she felt like she truly meant it. She was going to be okay. It was only a memory and it had no power to hurt her any more.

"Wow, Brienne that was-" Jaime seemed to struggle for the words, his breath stolen away by the passion in her voice, the pain and determination. He couldn't help but ask, "It was based on someone in particular, wasn't it?"

"His name was Hyle," she told him honestly, the name no longer burning her tongue. Jaime had told her of his own heartbreak that night in the ballroom, a life time ago, when she could barely stand him. Now she'd tell her own story, willingly, knowing he wouldn't judge her for it or laugh at her. "It was in high school, just after I moved to Winterfell. I thought he truly cared about me. He _made_ me think he truly cared about me, but it was all an act. A bet, made between him and his friends, to see who could 'get' the ungainly new girl. He humiliated me publicly... and I broke his nose for the trouble."

"I didn't know," realization dawned on his face as he realized just how his poor choice of words a few nights ago had affected her. "No wonder you reacted the way you did before." He covered his nose with a hand, "I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd damaged this work of art."

"The women of the world would never have forgiven me if I had!" She told him seriously, putting the guitar aside and closing the small distance between them, batting his hand away from his face. She let herself relax, let the ghost of her past go as she slumped against Jaime. He instinctively adjusted his position, wrapping an arm around her without thought as she rested her head on his shoulder. He was warm and real and she trusted him.

"I swear to the seven I'll never hurt you like that," he said softly after a moment, catching her hand in his and bringing it too his lips. He pressed a kiss, far too tender for her heart to handle, against her palm.

"I know," she whispered, letting herself believe in him as she hadn't believed in any man before him. They stayed like that for a long time, talking deep into the night about everything and nothing. The little tablet computer playing through the music Jaime had thought to upload to it, mainly his entire back catalogue and hers. If they had been asked later, neither would've been able to remember exactly who fell asleep first, curled up together on the plush beige rug by the fire place, or just exactly who it was who decided to use the other as a pillow.

Brienne's alarm went off at seven, loudly. The chorus of Kingslayer's 'Everlong' blasted through the room until she scrambled sleepily to grab it from the floor beside her. She shut off her phone red-facedly as an arm tightened around her waist. She felt her face flush even further as a sleepy voice rumbled in her ear, "I knew you were secretly a fan."

"Yes, well-" her clever retort was cut off when she noticed the time, the screen swimming blearily into focus before she snapped awake fully. Leaping from the comfortable floor, and the ungodly warm arms of the still half-sleeping man, she started swearing. There was an annoyed groan from behind her as a hand snagged around her ankle.

"Briiiiiiiiiiennnne," Jaime whined, tugging her leg, "come back wench. It's cold."

"Stop it, man!" She snapped firmly, even as her mind screamed at her to blow off the day's filming and curl back up with him. "There's no time for that! I'm late for filming and I'm not even dressed yet!"

His eyes snapped open at that, letting out a disappointed sigh when he realized she meant she simply hadn't had time to change. She was already darting for the door, one hand trying to straighten her hair as she grabbed her bag from where she'd dropped it on the floor. Turning at the last second she flitted back, ducking down and kissing him firmly before she was gone again.

"I'll text you later, sleeping beauty," she called out behind her just before the door slammed shut and Jaime was left alone in the warm space she'd left, mouth still tingling from her touch. She was going to be the death of him.

He lay there, wrapped in the sleepy haze of a late night with good company, trying to recall the last time he'd felt so good waking up with someone he hadn't actually _slept_ with in the scriptural sense. He resigned himself to another boring day of his own company. Tyrion would be off planning management-y things, or sneaking off with his new 'secret' girlfriend. Jaime had seen subtler relationships on billboards. His little brother was obviously head over heels for his pretty new make-up artist and Jaime couldn't have been happier for them, especially since his own little breakthrough with Brienne. He tried to remember his life before her, before the tour started, but it seemed like everything before that had happened a life time ago and to a very different man. Certainly not one who would be silently celebrating spending a night alone with the woman of his dreams and _not _getting laid.

Jaime rolled over, content to let himself drift back to sleep. He could always see Brienne later, maybe they could catch a film or something. He'd discovered once that she'd never seen The Godfather and was determined to rectify that. She'd be busy today, off filming that music video with her friends, Margaery, Sansa, Arya, Loras. Jaime jolted upright, cursing himself for forgetting the new, very male, addition to the band's line up and his own resolution to find out more about him. He saw nothing wrong with paying a little visit to the set, he'd only been banned yesterday after all and Brienne had said nothing about him not visiting today. He looked around the floor, grinning when he noticed her jacket still thrown over the sofa. It'd be unchivelrous not to return it to her. He got ready in record speed, flying from the hotel room not ten minutes after she'd left.

"'The fuck are you doing?" The hotel car park was mostly deserted apart from tour staff and the members of Oathkeeper kicking about waiting for their manager. Jaime easily recognized the voice coming from behind him as the dulcet tones of his drummer and, shushing him loudly, reached up a hand to drag the burly man down behind the bush he was currently hiding behind. His purpose for seeing Brienne had been forgotten when he'd noticed just how attractive the man hanging around with the band was. From the easy familiarity he had with the girls Jaime was convinced that this knave was obviously the elusive Loras.

"Silence, hound dog," Jaime whispered loudly as he peered through the shrubbery, "they mustn't locate our position." Across the parking lot Brienne had just turned up, wearing the same jeans from the day before if Jaime was any judge, his eyes lingering on the way they fit her incredibly firm rear as she crossed the tarmac. Coughing slightly he refocused his attention at the wolf whistles aimed her way from the band members already waiting by the rent-a-cars; a smug grin breaking over his features as he saw, from a distance, how charmingly red she went as they started ribbing her. The smile died when his new adversary wrapped an arm around _his _Brienne's shoulders, saying something to her he couldn't hear and making her blush further. Jaime didn't like him on sight, tall and slender with the kind of perfectly curled brown hair that girls went wild for. He was altogether too handsome for Jaime's liking, and far too hands on.

"'The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?" The Hound repeated with a growl, biting his words off harshly and prying the smaller man's hand from where it was still grasping his shirt.

"There is a suspicious character lurking around the car," Jaime thrust his binoculars at Sandor. He'd swiped them from one of his security guards on the way past the lobby, along with a doughnut and a mostly-full cup of coffee that Tyrion would frown on if he could see. For certain reasons that hadn't been publicised, Jaime had been forbidden from imbibing caffeine before midday. Jaime reasoned that what his younger brother didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Remind me why I care who's near your car?" Sandor replied, holding the travel-size binoculars out in front of him in short-tempered confusion.

"Not my car, you idiot," Jaime waved a hand towards the parking lot. "Around Oathkeeper's. He's wormed his way into their good graces somehow, I don't trust him."

Jaime hadn't finished speaking before Sandor was pushing him out of the way, holding the comically small binoculars to his eyes. "Where'd he come from?" He growled, watching the stylishly dressed man move easily amongst the band. The plastic of the binoculars crunched as Loras started playing with Sansa's hair.

"Interested now, huh?" Jaime asked slyly, pushing Sandor to the side so they could both peer through the leaves. "What exactly is your relationship with Sansa Stark? I'm dying to know."

"None of your business, Kingslayer," he rumbled darkly. "What do you know about _him_?"

"It's like that is it?" Jaime grinned nudging the man with his elbow and receiving a look that could curdle milk in response. Clearing his throat, Jaime got back into business mode. "His name is Loras, he went to school with them. He has shifty eyes and suspiciously small feet."

"His feet are fucking tiny," the Hound grunted in agreement, "like rat's paws."

"Exactly. Shit, he's getting in the car with them." They watched as Catelyn appeared at last, to much cheering, and loaded them all into the vehicles. The binoculars hit the ground as the cars started rolling away from the hotel. "They're moving, repeat they are moving. We need transportation, immediately." Springing to his feet Jaime ran off towards a waiting car he recognized as being from the tour's fleet, and proving the exact reason Tyrion had banned him from drinking coffee, Sandor in hot pursuit.

"You know where they're going?" Sandor asked as Jaime pushed the driver, who was leaning against the side of the car enjoying a cigarette, away and jumped in the front seat.

"They're heading to the studio in Leaves Den. Let's roll Robin," he shouted as the Hound slammed the door behind him and Jaime punched the car into drive, whipping out of the parking lot to a shout of disbelief from the driver behind them.

"Sod off if you think you're Batman in this situation," Sandor grumbled.

"I'm driving, I'm Batman."

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((All reviewers for this chapter will be entered into a draw to receive two free backstage passes to Kingslayer's High Garden tour date, winners must be Westeros residents aged fifteen or over and must have proof of ID. Tickets are non-transferable and no cash alternative is offered.

See you in a fortnight if I don't see you before! ;-) ))


	16. Chapter 16: Side Door

(( Hello everyone - I've missed you so! All of the thanks in the world to my much beset beta, Ides, for putting up with me :D And to the wonderful people who read and comment and are generally filled with such wonderful positivity! You make my day 3 ))

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Brienne sat patiently while the make-up team assigned to her worked their magic. The chair next to her had been occupied by her double, whose name she had learned was Stephen, but having finished being prepped into 'Good' Brienne, had left ahead of her. His chair hadn't been empty for two minutes before Arya jumped into it, the other members of the band not far behind, already made up and looking wonderfully evil. Despite the make-up, Brienne could see there was something tired in Sansa's face.

"Everything alright?" She asked, as Ros finished final touch ups and left the girls to talk before filming started.

"Yeah, nothing serious," Sansa blew out an annoyed breath, dropping onto the counter in front of them and teasing her super-curled hair in the mirror. "The twitter feed has just gone a bit mental lately."

"What about?" Brienne blinked, completely ignorant about the band's social media profile. She'd never understood the need to tell people what you were doing at any given hour of the day, or take artsy photographs of her meals for that matter.

Arya snorted, "people have been concerning themselves with your new boy toy. It's all very dramatic."

Brienne turned in her chair as her meaning dawned on her. "Oh, I guess I should have expected that." _They've been talking about it on every other form of media after all, _she thought. The radio presenter they'd listened to in the car on the way over had talked of little else._ "_I'm really sorry if it's causing the band trouble though," her mind was already whirring as guilt gnawed at her gut. "Should I try and be more low-key or...?"

"Don't be ridiculous, sweetie," Sansa reached forward and rubbed her arm consolingly, still managing to look caring through the heavy, dark make-up and black-out contacts.

Margaery nodded sagely, "if it wasn't about this it would be something else. There's always going to be fringe weirdos." She adjusted her metal bra as she spoke, baring entire continents of perfectly tanned skin. "And they're so un-inventive with their names too, Kingslayerlvr, Lannisfan, KSgurl5lyf, how embarrassing."

"I dunno, there were some original ones," Arya laughed, flipping through the stream on her phone as she spoke. "How about ZorseRyd3r? They've given us a short essay on how we're gonna be _'sorry' _about this tour_._ Or WestLight266? Who has some interesting theories on the Kingslayer/Brienne relationship, none of them complimentary I might add." Chuckling at the page of stupid in front of her she waved a hand at them, "no, no, my favourite has to be that wonderful critic, TheAntiBrie!"

"Sounds like something you'd put in a car," Brienne mumbled, pulling at the uncomfortable fabric of her collar as she did and feeling the familiar flush of anxiety that came with the perils of dating a celebrity.

"Soooooo," Margaery leaned over the space between their chairs and looked at her with all the subtlety of a flashing neon sign, "speaking of Kingslayer fans... busy night?"

Sansa flicked the brunette, "tact, Margaery."

"That was tactful!" Margaery snapped back before conceding with a shrug "...for me."

"For you sister, that was practically saintly," Loras agreed, strolling in from where he'd been chatting with a wardrobe assistant and immediately moving to check Brienne's extensions. He artfully arranged the waterfall of poker straight blonde hair for maximum effect. "I love this style on you, very 80's fierce."

"They've given me a mullet," Brienne replied, happy to grasp onto a conversation that wasn't Jaime related and staring critically at herself. Her own natural hair had been swept up and hair-sprayed into a concrete formation, then they'd clipped the extensions just above her ears and hidden the join with a metal 'crown' band that wound around her forehead and was more than a little uncomfortable.

"I got one too," Arya added, ruffling her own far more wild, hair style. "It looks good, like one of those cartoons Sansa always used to make us watch," she pitched in helpfully, spinning on the adjustable styling chair in a way that was making the on-looking stylist wince. "You know, it was the one with the singer Jen."

"The cretin means Jem." Sansa glared at her sister, knowing very well Arya knew what she was talking about. Sansa hadn't been the only one to watch it. Even Jon and Robb sat through it without complaint, not that they'd admit to that now. "But she's right, you look, like, truly outrageous!" Giggling at her own joke she was cut across by Margaery, who had apparently grown bored of the topic of conversation.

"Y'know what else is truly outrageous? Not telling me what happened last night, I'm a social creature Brienne and I need gossip like a fish needs water!"

"Calm down Marge," Brienne chided as her face flushed underneath her war paint, "nothing like _that _happened. He was the perfect gentleman."

"The Kingslayer? A perfect gentleman?" Loras whistled in disbelief, "The magazines have been lying to me."

"Don't trust everything you read," Brienne straightened her armoured shoulder pads in the mirror. "He can be an incredibly thoughtful and reserved man."

Jaime ducked through the back door of the studio and executed an entirely unnecessary barrel roll into the hallway. Sandor groaned aloud. If Jaime hadn't already told him that he'd been there before filming an ad campaign, or movie cameo, he couldn't remember which, he would have ditched the smaller man then and there. They'd made it in relatively unnoticed, their car was marked as being in the same fleet as the rest of the Oathkeeper staff, after all, and there were plenty of extras and crew milling around the place.

The journey had been a short one, the Hound glaring silently out of the window as Jaime flicked through the music stations, whacking the volume up to full blast when Rihanna's 'Shut up and Drive' came on. He didn't know how he had got into this situation; if it hadn't been for that greasy, small-footed bastard getting handsy with his little bird he wouldn't have been there in the first place. He knew logically it wasn't his place to worry about who she associated with, but he couldn't help himself. She needed someone to look out for her, and the idiot Kingslayer who'd dragged him into this was about as useful as a set of balls to a Septon.

Sandor had always considered himself to be a fairly simple man; he was the sort of guy most at home in dive bars and alley ways, a beer in hand, living gig-to-gig. He'd never expected to end up touring with the most famous man in Westeros, not that it had bothered him. The pay checks were nice and the tour bus was far more comfortable than his hovel of a flat in Kings Landing. He was content to live that way until then next opportunity turned up, never thinking too much outside his current situation. But then _she _had appeared, smelling of roses and vanilla and walking like she had wings. She had his head spinning in ways he never knew existed. Whenever he saw her he started thinking about candlelit dinners, rose petals scattered across the table cloth whilst goddamn love ballads played in the background. It was fine until he remembered he'd never fit into that vision, his seat should be taken by someone slighter and handsomer and infinitely more charming. Someone like _him, _Loras or whatever the fuck the Kingslayer had said his name was. _He _should be in the picture, not a burnt dog with a bad attitude. And yet somehow he wasn't prepared to let it go. Loras could be a murderer or a villain, he could break her heart.

Sandor couldn't bear that.

"Did y'have to hum Mission Impossible the whole fucking way from the car?" He groused, stomping in behind Jaime with far less flair. The hallway was empty despite the fact the busy studio had been entirely booked out for the three day top-secret video shoot. Jaime had said this door was rarely used any more due to being located on the opposite side of the studio from the good sets.

"Yes, Hound. Yes, I did." Brushing his jeans down with care Jaime popped the collar of his shirt and started off towards where he knew the dressing rooms would be located, the Hound trailing behind. "You've obviously never been on a covert mission before."

"Fucking Lannister," was his mumbled response. Sandor dragged his feet as the infuriating front man strolled through the studio like he owned the place. For all Sandor knew, he might do.

"Aha, it should be just down here." Spotting a flash of blonde hair walking away from them Jaime held up a hand, "sorry, Boy Wonder. This is a mission I'm forced to endure alone. If you circle round that way you should come to the main set. Act natural. And good luck with Captain Small Feet if you get there before me." He paused, looking back at the towering man with a grin. "Oh, and be sure to say 'hi' to your girlfriend for me."

"Fuck off," was the short reply, even as Sandor complied and stomped off in the direction the man had pointed. Leaving Jaime to rub his hands together as he followed the direction Brienne had disappeared in, she was a good way ahead of him and he had some catching up to do.

Shortly after Margaery had been called to set to film her close-ups and Arya had wandered off to seek whatever mysterious adventures she seemed to have on a day to day basis, Brienne moved closer to Sansa. Loras had gone with his sister, determined to keep an eye on one dresser in particular who kept draping her skirt wrong, and the make-up girls had left for their coffee break.

The room was empty apart from the two quietest members of Oathkeeper.

Brienne cleared her throat and attempted to look natural, something had been playing on her mind all day and she figured this was the best time to broach the subject. "Sansa... can I talk to you for a minute?" She started in a quiet voice.

Sansa looked around from where she had been fixing her contact lenses with surprise, "of course Bri, what about? It's not serious is it?"

Flushing pink, Brienne shook her head vehemently, "No, no – not serious at all. It's just I wondered if you could advise me on something…about Jaime." It wasn't that Brienne didn't love the other girls, they were all like sisters to her after all, but it seemed that in this matter Sansa was the smartest choice. Her advice probably wouldn't involve the word 'bang'.

"What about him?" She asked, turning in her seat and automatically drawing closer to her tall friend, lowering her voice as Brienne had done so as they wouldn't be over heard.

"It's just, I want to do something for him, something nice or romantic, or whatever." Brienne waved a hand at her own ineloquence and general lack of skill in that particular department. "He's done so much for me, y'know? I want to do something for him in return."

"Well," Sansa considered, her inner romantic bursting at the seams at the sight of her besotted friend, "what do you know about him? Other than the obvious I mean. The clue to doing something truly romantic lies in knowledge."

"I guess... he's funny," she started slowly, not making eye contact as she listed his qualities "and kind and sweet and completely bloody idiotic." Brienne felt herself smile as she painted a picture of the real Jaime Lannister for her friend. "He likes Dr Pepper and penguins and Bon Jovi. He hates hospitals. He has the attention span of a four year old on a sugar rush and once had to be cut out of a pair of trousers for a video shoot. Music is his life. Oh, and he once cried because the Lannisport Lions lost a football match, but I wasn't supposed to mention that."

Sansa was beaming from ear-to-ear by the time Brienne finished her little speech, noticing how the tall girl seemed to glow when she spoke of her very famous, very misunderstood, boyfriend. "Aren't the Lannisport Lions playing in High Garden while we're there? I seem to remember something about that being on the radio the other day."

"Sansa, you genius!" Brienne gasped as the idea formed, "but what about security and stuff? It's not like I can just walk into a football game with the bloody Kingslayer and no one will notice."

"Tyrion," Sansa answered before Brienne's face could fall too far. "He'll help you out, you have his number right?"

"I think so," Brienne searched for her phone and found the contact details already in there from earlier on in the tour. "I better go and call him, thank you Sansa."

"Any time sweetie, any time!" Sansa replied merrily and waved Brienne off towards the door, phone in hand and ridiculous cape swishing behind her. Sansa sighed happily in her wake before leaving by the other exit to rejoin the action on set.

Jaime watched as Brienne turned the corner ahead of him, if his memory served right she would be heading towards the make-up room, something was off in her stride making him wonder if she'd forgotten something perhaps or was maybe texting as she walked. Quickening his pace he managed to catch up with her right on the threshold of the room, holding the door shut with one hand from behind and leaning in close to her ear.

"Guess who, wench?" He breathed in his most seductive tone, hands finding her waist beneath the billowing white cape she wore. Brienne shot around quicker than Jaime could have imagined and the next thing he knew he was blinking at the ceiling as his jaw ached from the force of the punch that had knocked him down. "Brienne?" He croaked in surprise, looking up in dazed confusion at the Amazon dressed in pale peach and ivory, who, despite all of the evidence to the contrary, was not in fact his girlfriend.

"Sorry about that Stephen," a familiarly unimpressed voice came from the door way as he looked in shocked amazement at the man who was rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. Everything from the height to the perfectly styled hair screamed Brienne to Jaime.

"No, no, I'm sorry," the Bri-man replied in a resonantly deep tone, offering a hand to Jaime as he did so. "Mr. Lannister," he apologized again, "I didn't realise it was you. I thought you were one of those creeps from PR." Giving Jaime a firm pat on the shoulder Stephen whirled around as his name was called from the main room, "sorry I'm needed on set, I'll see you in a bit Brienne." Watching the man stalk away in three inch heels Jaime turned in slow motion to where he knew the real deal would be standing behind him, it wasn't quite the entrance he was hoping to make.

"Well, that was embarrassing," he said before the power of speech failed him and he nearly fell back to the floor. She was a vision.

"Tell me about it," she dead panned, tucking her phone into her belt before folding her arms across her chest. She was taller than ever in knee high black boots, worn over wet look leggings so tight he assumed she must have been poured into them. His eyes travelled upwards across the navy metallic-look corset she'd been bound into, and the faintest hint of cleavage it revealed, to the dramatic armoured shoulder pads that spread around her neck like a collar. A tattered plum coloured cape hung down her back. He whistled very slowly, she looked like a dark elf emerged from a sexy fantasy film that probably had a very high rating. The only thing he would change were the contacts, whilst the blackout style increased her otherworldly image, he found he missed the intensity of her natural sapphire gaze.

"Close your mouth," she grumbled, shifting from one foot to the other self-consciously and breaking the illusion. She glanced away from him as the crew on the other side of the corridor called back and forth to each other over the music track. She was the next on set and the wait was the worst part it seemed, ears straining for her cue.

Jaime swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat working reflexively as he took in the full glory of her. "Brienne," he said very quietly, eyes roaming freely over her in her distraction and storing away the image for further study, "your honour is in danger."

He could tell she was only half listening, still turned towards the sound of the director shouting the scene into order, corralling extras and set hands alike as the music was reset. "Hmm?" She said as the yell went up for a retake, not seeing him prowling towards her. He was feeling more than a little predatory, his fingers itching to slide over her waist and see just what material her corset was made of. It shone like metal but fit so snugly he couldn't guess, warm or cool, he needed to know.

"What did you say, Jaime?" She asked, turning back at last and starting at how close he had come during her inattention. The dull ache in his jaw was already forgotten as he moved closer still, a dangerous gleam in his eyes that had Brienne backing up a step until her back meet the solid frame of the door. "Jaime," she warned breathlessly as he trapped her against the door, his fingers gliding over her waist in a way that had her heart beating double-time as he raked his nails against the deceptively smooth fabric.

"Yes?" He replied distractedly, grazing his hand slowly up across ribcage and watching in satisfaction as she bit her lip in response. His smile widened, taking in the flush that spread underneath her make-up as she blinked at him with haematite eyes.

"What are you doing?" Her hand closed reflexively in his shirt, but whether it was to push him away or pull him closer he couldn't tell.

"What does it look like?" He tilted his head back, in her heels she was taller than ever and it sent an unexpected thrill through him. His other hand found the hollow of her waist as he held her in front of him, the background sounds of the studio at odds with their quiet little section of corridor. "I'm up to no good."

"And, why are you?" He watched the smooth column of her throat work as she spoke, letting his breath ghost across her skin in a way that had her fingers clutching his shirt tighter.

"This is," he placed a feather light kiss against the skin of her neck and was rewarded with a telling shiver of excitement.

"This is hardly the most opportune moment, don't you think?"

"I love how you get fancy when you're nervous," he muttered between kisses as he climbed towards her jawline, making sure to give his full attention to every one of the myriad of freckles that covered her skin on the way. He stopped just before he reached her mouth, enjoying the breathless look of anticipation she wore so well.

"I have to be on set in a minute," she said weakly, knowing full well that she couldn't stop him if she wanted to, which she really didn't.

"But I came all this way to see you," Jaime whispered against her mouth, forgetting that only yesterday she had banned him from set. "Don't I get even one kiss for my troubles?"

She tried to glare at him but couldn't keep up the pretence for more than a few seconds. "Just one," she agreed at last through heavy lidded eyes, feeling a burst of triumph Jaime crossed that last little inch between them, just as someone burst through the door behind them.

"Brie-ennnne!" Loras sang cheerfully, "They're almost done with Margaery and you're up nex-" he stopped abruptly in his tracks, "-t."

"Loras," Brienne sprang away from Jaime as if she'd been burned, straightening the fabric of her top in a way she thought looked inconspicuous but just read as guilty. "That was," she was blushing like crazy, "that was quick."

"Mhmmm," he said knowingly, fixing her with the Tyrell-brand smirk that told her she could hide nothing from him. "This must be the famous Kingslayer, good to meet you at last." He stretched out a hand which Jaime shook, perhaps a little more firmly than he ought to have done, already eyeing up the competition.

"Loras, isn't it?" He asked, better able to size up his opponent now they were face-to-face and sliding an arm around Brienne territorially. "You knew the girls from before, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Oh yeah, we grew up together." Loras clapped Brienne on the arm in a way Jaime considered to be entirely unnecessary. "You know my sister, Margaery, of course."

"So you're Margaery's brother, did you inherit the musical gene too?" On the surface his questions seemed entirely friendly but there was an edge of steel and suspicion beneath. One that Brienne could easily read if the irritated groan she let out was any intimation.

"Not even a little bit." Loras laughed, "I'll leave the rock star dreams to these beautiful creatures."

"Loras is one of Westero's finest new designers," Brienne interjected, trying to diffuse the testosterone laden tension rolling from her boyfriend in waves. "He's showing his new range in Kings Landing next week, aren't you Loras."

"Yes, the 'Night of Flowers' brand is finally getting some recognition from those hacks, then on to Storm's End for the industry show." He sighed dramatically, before snapping his fingers in sudden thought, "that reminds me! You were on the Renly show the other day, I wondered if any of you got the show runner's number?"

It was Brienne's turn to look surprised, "why?" She asked, not seeing Jaime shoot her a quick, worried look as he recalled her former attachment to the talk show host, an attachment she had completely forgotten about.

"I'm trying to get my agent to get me on the show but she's having no luck," he shrugged, "the exposure would be great and plus, have you seen that man? Hot damn, I need a piece of that."

Jaime paused, his mind working around that little sentence for a moment as he thought, _oh. __**OH.**_Pulling his phone from his pocket he cut Brienne off before she had chance to speak, "I have Renly's personal number if you want it, Loras." He flipped through his contacts quickly and held the offending object out to the no longer threatening young man. "Drop my name in a text and you'll be on the show before you can blink."

"Thanks, Kingslayer." Loras grinned, punching the numbers into his own phone with a flourish. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you, B, you're on in five." He glanced between the couple knowingly, "and if you could point me in the direction of sweet Sansa I'll be out of your perfectly styled hair."

Brienne pointed silently down the corridor to where she'd last seen Sansa, trying not to blush too hard as Loras strolled off with a wave, whistling as he went.

"Now where were we?" Jaime purred at her, his threat finally vanquished. Glad that Loras wasn't quite the opponent he'd originally thought, Jaime captured Brienne in his arms again. He flashed his teeth in a charming grin as the other man went off to find Sansa, who had probably already been found by Jaime's big, scary drummer..who didn't know Loras was gay. "Oh, fuck it." Dropping his hold on her, he snatched Brienne's hand and tugged her along the corridor after him.

"Where are we going?" She asked in breathless confusion as they chased Loras' shadow.

"I may or may not have _inadvertently_ set the Hound on your friend's gay brother," he sighed, hating that he was now chasing that little tulip through the studio instead of pressing Brienne back up against that metal doorway.

"_Jaime._"

* * *

((All reviewers for this chapter will be eligible to receive a free 50% off discount for the 'Night of Flowers' online store, featuring the best in high-end fashion and design from rising star designer Loras Tyrell.  
See you next week if I don't see you first! Same BotB time, Same BotB channel ;-) ))


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